I 


LIBRARY 

UNlVuRSITY  OP 
C/:UFOKNlA 
SAN  DIEGO 


W4- 


(Romance^  (^mon  atxb  ^atxxt 


OMANCE 
VISION  ^ 
SATIRES 


of  t^t  ^oxtxkmt^  C^tuf^ 

NEWLY  RENDERED 

IN  THE  ORIGINAL  METRES 

BY 

JESSIE  L.  WESTON 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

(arte  iSilJcr^itie  pvt4^  Camliriti0e 

MDCCCCXII 


COPYRIGHT,    191 2,    BY  JESSIE    L.   WESTON 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  October  iqiz 


(preface 


The  translations  here  printed  are  the  first-fruits  of  a  sugges- 
tion, made  seven  years  ago  by  Professor  W.  H.  Schofield, 
that  I  should  render  into  modern  verse  a  series  of  texts,  se- 
lected by  him,  and  covering  the  same  ground  as  his  history 
of  English  Literature  from  the  Norman  Conquest  to  Chaucer. 
The  suggestion  appealed  to  me  for  many  reasons,  not  the  least 
being  that  it  would  give  me  an  opportunity  of  becoming 
familiar  with  works  that  lay  outside  the  range  of  my  special 
field  of  study.  Fine  as  our  English  Arthurian  literature 
undoubtedly  is,  it  forms  but  a  small  section  of  the  Matiere  de 
Bretagne,  and  outside  the  Arthurian  romances  I  knew  but 
little  of  our  mediaeval  literature.  I  felt  that,  by  undertaking 
the  work,  I  should  myself  be  the  gainer,  by  how  much  I  did 
not  realize;  but  as  time  went  on,  and  item  after  item  of  the 
list  prepared  by  Professor  Schofield  for  my  guidance  was 
marked  off,  I  became  more  and  more  interested  in  the  work, 
more  and  more  impressed  with  the  extraordinary  richness 
and  beauty  of  mediaeval  English  poetry.  In  my  growing 
enthusiasm  perhaps  I  somewhat  overstepped  the  limits 
originally  designed,  for  when,  in  the  winter  of  1910,  I  placed 
the  completed  manuscript  in  Professor  Schofield's  hands,  it 
had  hopelessly  outgrown  the  original  scheme  of  publication. 
To  print  the  whole  as  one  volume  was  out  of  the  question; 

[v] 


{pxtfau 


the  book  would  have  been  far  too  cumbersome  for  students* 
use,  and  some  scheme  of  division  had  to  be  thought  out. 
Messrs.  Houghton  Mifflin  Company  having  accepted  the 
main  part  of  the  manuscript  as  a  volume  of  their  projected 
series  of  *  Chief  Poets,'  it  was  decided  to  separate  the  allit- 
erative poems,  otherwise  provided  for  in  their  edition,  and 
publish  them  thus  in  an  independent  form. 

This  group  of  fourteenth-century  poems  is,  as  a  whole, 
extraordinarily  interesting,  representing  as  it  does  a  period 
when  the  pleasure  of  telling  a  good  story  was  becoming  en- 
hanced by  the  recognition  of  the  power  to  tell  that  story  well, 
when  a  sense  of  form  was  making  itself  felt,  and  simple  alliter- 
ative verse  was  seeking  for  itself  more  intricate  and  effective 
shapes.  Both  Sir  Gazvain  and  Pearl  are  very  elaborate  in 
structure,  the  latter  especially  so;  but  even  the  least  artistic 
poem  here  given  is  the  product  of  no  mean  workman. 

Except  in  the  case  of  Piers  the  Plowman,  the  authors  of  all 
these  poems  are  nameless;  in  them  we  have  neither  the  gen- 
uine simplicity  of  men  like  Orm  and  Layamon,  who  left  their 
names  on  record  that  their  readers  might  remember  them 
in  their  prayers,  nor  the  conscious  self-importance  of  Chretien 
de  Troyes,  who,  counting  on  enduring  popularity  for  his 
poems,  secured  the  permanent  association  of  his  name  with 
his  work  by  means  of  elaborate  introductions.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  writers  of  these  poems  seem  to  have  been  so 
filled  with  a  sense  of  pleasure  in  their  task,  to  have  so  de- 
lighted  in  the  work  for  its  own  sake,  that  they  had  little 

[  vi] 


(preface 


thought,  or  care,  for  personal  applause.  Yet  we  may  con- 
jecture that  they  were  not  altogether  obscure  folk;  when  we 
read  the  accounts  of  brilliant  banquets  in  Sir  Gaivain,  Clean- 
ness, and  the  Morte  Arthure,  we  get  the  impression  that 
each  writer  is  describing  a  scene  such  as  he  has  himself  wit- 
nessed; each  is  familiar  with  all  the  etiquette  pertaining  to  a 
royal  feast,  the  order  of  precedence,  the  fashion  of  service, 
the  variety  and  character  of  sumptuous  dishes.  These  writers 
have  frequented  courts,  and  are  well  versed  in  the  noble  art 
of  venery,  of  which  Sir  Tristrem  was  so  distinguished  an  ex- 
ponent. The  authors  of  Sir  Gawain,  and  The  Adventures  of 
Arthur  are  no  novices  in  hunter's  lore.  The  section  dealing 
with  the  hunting  of  the  Green  Knight  might  in  itself  form  a 
complete  manual  of  instruction  in  that  art!  The  poet  of  Sir 
Gawain,  to  whom  is  usually  ascribed  (though  on  no  final 
evidence)  the  other  poems  in  the  Cotton  MS.,  Pearl,  Clean- 
ness, and  Patience,  was  without  question  an  accomplished 
gentleman  in  the  best  sense  of  the  term. 

When  we  turn  from  this  group  to  the  Vision  of  Piers  the 
Plowman,  we  find  ourselves  in  another,  more  democratic,  and 
more  modern  atmosphere.  In  spite  of  the  mediaeval  dress  in 
which  the  figures  of  the  allegory  are  clad,  and  the  different  sur- 
roundings amid  which  they  move,  we  feel  irresistibly  that  we 
are  here  dealing  with  the  same  problems  as  are  crying  loudly 
for  solution  to-day.  The  classes  and  the  masses  have  drawn 
little  nearer  together;  there  Is  still  the  same  cry  on  the  part 
of  the  worker  for  a  better  reward  for  his  labour,  and  too  often, 

[vii] 


(preface 


the  same  demand  on  the  part  of  the  wastrel  to  be  fed  and 
clothed  at  another's  expense.  The  Maiden  Meed  no  longer 
queens  it  so  openly,  but  who  shall  say  she  has  not  faithful 
friends  and  servants  still  —  that  there  are  not  at  present,  in 
high  positions,  men  who  owe  their  advancement  as  much  to 
Meed  as  to  Merit?  The  rule  of  Righteousness  and  Reason 
can  hardly  yet  be  said  to  prevail.  Were  Langland  living  to- 
day it  is  to  be  feared  that  he  would  still  find  food  for  keen 
and  pointed  satire. 

With  regard  to  the  method  of  translation  adopted,  the  aim 
has  been  less  to  furnish  a  'crib,'  than  to  give  such  a  rendering 
of  the  works  as  shall  enable  them  to  make  their  appeal  to  the 
modern  reader,  not  as  curious  specimens  of  writing  in  a  dead 
past,  but  as,  what  they  should  indeed  be,  part  of  a  living  liter- 
ature. Since  the  original  text  of  these  poems  is  now  unintel- 
ligible save  to  scholars,  they  should  be  reproduced  in  their 
entirety,  and  in  a  verse  form  which  preserves  as  much  as 
possible  the  life  and  spirit  that  they  once  possessed.  I  have 
tried  throughout  to  give  a  literal  translation,  but  where  a  slav- 
ish adherence  to  the  letter  of  the  text  would  have  meant 
hampering  the  rhythm,  and  marring  the  effect,  I  have  held 
myself  free  to  express  the  poet's  idea  in  somewhat  different 
words.  I  am  well  aware  that  some  of  these  texts  demanded 
for  their  adequate  rendering  a  talent  beyond  my  scope:  the 
translation  of  Pearl  needs  a  poet,  rather  than  a  versifier; 
while  working  on  this  text  I  was  haunted  by  the  regret  that 
it  had  not  been  known  to  the  late  Christina  Rossetti,  for, 

[  vlii  ] 


(preface 


surely,  of  all  modern  English  writers,  she  could  best  have 
reproduced  the  glowing  imagery  and  mystic  fervour  of  the 
original. 

However,  for  good  or  ill,  the  work  Is  now  done,  and  I  can 
only  commend  it  to  the  verdict  of  students  of  English  liter- 
ature, trusting  that  they  who  are  best  able  to  judge  of  the 
difficulties  of  the  task  will  be  most  lenient  toward  any  short- 
comings in  its  fulfilment. 

In  conclusion,  I  would  express  my  thanks  to  Professor 
Schofield  for  having  induced  me  to  undertake  the  work,  and 
for  the  advice  and  guidance  he  has  freely  given  during 
its  execution.  He  is  not  responsible  in  any  way  for  the  form 
or  the  accuracy  of  the  translations,  though  I  have,  in  cer- 
tain instances,  revised  the  rendering  in  accordance  with  his 
suggestions. 
Paris,  April  1912. 


Conknt^ 


I.   Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight       .        .       i 

II.  The   Adventures   of  Arthur   at   the   Tarn 

Wadeling      .        .     - 107 

III.  MoRTE  Arthure 137 

IV.  Cleanness 151 

V.   Patience 171 

VI.   Pearl 185 

VII.   The  Vision  of  Piers  the  Plowman  (Text  A)    239 

VIII.  The  Vision  of  Piers  the  Plowman  (Text  B)  317 

Notes 329 


^xx  (Bau^atn  anb  t^t  6tem  Mnx^^t 


BOOK  I 
I 

Since  Troy's  assault  and  siege,  I  trow,  were  over-past, 
To  brands  and  ashes  burnt  that  stately  burg  at  last, 
And  he,  the  traitor  proved,  for  treason  that  he  wrought, 
Was  fitly  tried  and  judged,  —  his  fortune  elsewhere  sought 
The  truest  knight  on  earth,  ^neas,  with  his  kin. 
Who  vanquished  provinces,  and  did,  as  princes,  win 
Of  all  the  Western  Isles,  the  wealth  and  worth  alway; 
Rich  Romulus  to  Rome  full  swift  hath  ta'en  his  way. 
First,  hath  he  founded  fair  that  city  in  his  pride 
To  which  he  gave  his  name,  it  bears  It  to  this  tide; 
Ticius  doth  dwellings  found,  turning  to  Tuscany, 
And  Langobard,  a  race  raised  up  in  Lombardy. 
But  Felix  Brutus  sailed  full  far,  o'er  the  French  flood, 
And  on  its  banks  so  broad  founded  Britain,  the  good, 

in  bliss; 

Where  war  nor  wonder  fail 

And  ne'er  have  done,  ywis, 

Nor  shall  both  bliss  and  bale 

Their  shifting  chances  miss. 

[  3  ] 


^ix  (Bfaijoain  artb  f^e  (Breen  Q^nig^^ 

II 

And  when  that  baron  bold  had  Britain  made,  I  trow, 
Bold  men  were  bred  therein,  who  loved  strife  well  enow, ' 
And  many  a  war  they  waged  in  those  good  days  of  yore  — 
Of  marvels  stern  and  strange,  in  this  land  many  more 
Have  chanced   than  otherwhere,   since  that  same  time,   I 

ween  — 
But  of  all  kings  who  e'er  o'er  Britain  lords  have  been, 
Fairest  was  Arthur  all,  and  boldest,  so  men  tell; 
Therefore  I  think  to  shew  a  venture  that  befell 
In  his  time,  which  some  men  for  a  sheer  wonder  hold, 
And  strange  above  all  tales  that  be  of  Arthur  told. 
If  ye  will  list  this  lay  a  little  while,  in  sooth, 
I  '11  tell  ye  as  I  heard  it  told  in  town  for  truth 

with  tongue  — 

As  it  doth  stand,  to  wit, 

In  story  stiflf  and  strong, 

In  letters  fairly  writ. 

The  land  hath  known  it  long. 

Ill 

At  Camelot  lay  the  King,  all  on  a  Christmas-tide, 
With  many  a  lovely  lord,  and  gallant  knight  beside, 
And  of  the  Table  Round  did  the  rich  brotherhood 
High  revel  hold  aright,  and  mirthful  was  their  mood: 
Oft-times  on  tourney  bent  those  gallants  sought  the  field. 
And  gentle  knights  in  joust  would  shiver  spear  and  shield; 

[4] 


Anon  would  seek  the  court  for  sport  and  carol  gay  — 
For  fifteen  days  full  told  the  feast  was  held  alway, 
With  all  the  meat  and  mirth  that  men  might  well  devise, 
Right  glorious  was  the  glee  that  rang  in  riotous  wise. 
Glad  clamour  through  the  day,  dancing  throughout  the  night; 
Good  luck  throughout  the  hall  and  chambers  well  bedlght, 
Had  lords  and  ladies  fair,  each  one  as  pleased  him  best, 
With  all  of  this  world's  weal  they  dwelt,  those  gallant  guests; 
For  Christ  no  braver  knights  had  faced  or  toil  or  strife, 
No  fairer  ladies  e'er  had  drawn  the  breath  of  life,  ; 
And  he,  the  comeliest  king  that  e'er  held  court,  forsooth, 
For  all  this  goodly  folk  were  e'en  in  their  first  youth, 

and  still 

The  happiest  under  heaven, 

A  king  of  stalwart  will, 

'T  were  hard  with  them  to  even 

Another  host  on  hill! 

IV 

So  young  the  New  Year  was,  methlnks  it  just  was  born, 
Double  upon  the  dais  they  served  the  meat  that  morn; 
Into  the  hall  he  came,  with  all  his  knights,  the  King, 
E'en  as  the  chapel  choir  to  end  the  mass  did  sing. 
Loud  rang  the  voice  of  clerk  and  cantor  there  aloft, 
^Nozvell,  Nowelll'  they  sang,  and  cried  the  word  full  oft. 
And  sithen  forth  they  run  for  handsel  fair  and  free 
Their  New  Year's  gifts  they  pray,  or  give  them  readily. 

[5  1 


And  then  about  the  gifts  they  make  debate  enow, 
And  ladies  laugh  full  loud,  tho'  they  have  lost,  I  trow!  : 
And  this  I  rede  ye  well,  not  wroth  was  he  who  won!  — 
And  all  this  mirth  they  made  till  meal-time  came  —  anon 
The  board  was  set,  they  washed,  and  then  in  order  meet 
The  noblest  aye  above,  each  gallant  took  his  seat. 
When  Gaynore,  gayly  clad,  stepped  forth  among  them  all, 
Upon  the  royal  dais,  high  in  the  midmost  hall. 
Sendal  swept  at  her  side,  and  eke  above  her  head 
A  tapestry  of  Tars,  and  choice  Toulouse  outspread, 
And  all  embroidered  fair,  and  set  with  gems  so  gay 
That  might  be  proved  of  price,  an  ye  their  worth  would  pay 

one  day; 

Right  fair  she  was,  the  queen, 

With  eyes  of  shining  grey. 

That  fairer  he  had  seen 

No  man  might  soothly  say! 

V 

Arthur,  he  would  not  eat  till  all  were  served  with  food. 
Glad  of  his  gladness  he,  somewhat  of  child-like  mood;  / 
A  changeful  life  he  loved,,  he  liked  it  not  a  whit. 
Either  o'er-long  to  lie,  or  e'en  o'er-long  to  sit, 
So  chafed  his  youthful  blood,  and  eke  his  busy  brain. 
Also  a  custom  good,  to  which  the  King  was  fain  — 
Thro'  valour  'stablished  fast  —  that  never  would  he  eat 
On  such  high  holiday  ere  yet  adventure  meet 

[6] 


Were  told  unto  his  ear  —  or  wondrous  tale  enow, 
Or  else  some  marvel  great  that  he  might  well  allow  — 
Tales  of  his  father's  days,  of  arms,  of  emprise  high,  — 
Or  e'en  some  knight  besought  another's  skill  to  try, 
To  join  with  him  in  joust,  in  jeopardy  to  lay 
Life  against  life,  each  one,  on  hap  of  knightly  play. 
As  Fortune  them  might  aid  —  in  quest  of  honour  fair  — 
This  was  his  custom  good  when  as  in  court  he  were 
At  each  high  holiday,  among  his  courtiers  there 

in  hall. 

Fair-faced,  and  free  of  fear, 

He  sitteth  o'er  them  all. 

Right  keen  in  that  New  Year, 

And  maketh  mirth  withal. 

VI 

Thus  in  his  place  he  stands,  the  young  and  gallant  king, 
Before  the  royal  board,  talking  of  many  a  thing. 
There  good  Gawain,  gay  clad,  beside  Gaynore  doth  sit, 
Agravain  '  dure  main,'  beyond  her  as  is  fit; 
(Both  the  King's  sister's  sons,  and  knights  of  valiant  mood  — ) 
High  at  the  table  sits  Baldwin  the  Bishop  good. 
And  Ywain,  Urian's  son,  doth  with  the  Bishop  eat  — 
These  on  the  dai's  are  served,  in  seemly  wise,  and  meet. 
Full  many  a  gallant  knight  sits  at  the  board  below; 
See  where  the  first  course  comes,  while  loud  the  trumpets 
blow! 

[7] 


With  many  a  banner  bright  that  gaily  waves  thereby, 
And  royal  roll  of  drums,  and  pipes  that  shrill  on  high. 
Wild  warblings  waken  there,  and  sweet  notes  rise  and  fall, 
Till  many  a  heart  swelled  high  within  that  castle  hall! 
Dainties  they  bring  therewith,  and  meats  both  choice  and 

rare  — 
Such  plenty  of  fresh  food,  so  many  dishes  bear, 
They  scarce  might  find  a  place  to  set,  the  folk  before, 
The  silver  vessels  all  that  savoury  messes  bore, 

on  cloth, 
The  guests  they  help  themselves, 
Thereto  they  be  not  loth, 
Each  twain  had  dishes  twelve, 
Good  beer,  and  red  wine  both. 

VII 

Now  of  their  service  good  I  think  no  more  to  say. 
For  each  man  well  may  wot  no  lack  was  there  that  day. 
Noise  that  to  them  was  new  methinks  now  drew  anear 
Such  as  each  man  in  hall  were  ever  fain  to  hear. 
For  scarce  the  joyful  sounds  unto  an  end  were  brought. 
And  scarce  had  the  first  course  been  fitly  served  at  court, 
When  through  the  hall  door  rushed  a  champion,  fierce  and  fell, 
Highest  in  stature  he,  of  all  on  earth  who  dwell! 
From  neck  to  waist  so  square,  and  eke  so  thickly  set. 
His  loins  and  limbs  alike,  so  long  they  were,  and  great, 
Half  giant  upon  earth,  I  hold  him  to  have  been, 

[  8  ] 


^ix  (BaiJDain  anb  t^t  &xun  (^ni^^t 

In  every  way  of  men  the  tallest  he,  I  ween  — 
The  merriest  in  his  might  that  e'er  a  joust  might  ride, 
Sternly  his  body  framed  in  back,  and  breast,  and  side, 
Belly  and  waist  alike  were  fitly  formed,  and  small, 
E'en  so  his  features  fair  were  sharply  cut  withal, 

and  clean, 

Men  marvelled  at  his  hue, 

So  was  his  semblance  seen, 

He  fared  as  one  on  feud. 

And  over  all  was  green!   ., 

VIII 

All  green  bedight  that  knight,  and  green  his  garments  fair 

A  narrow  coat  that  clung  straight  to  his  side  he  ware, 

A  mantle  plain  above,  lined  on  the  inner  side 

With  costly  fur  and  fair,  set  on  good  cloth  and  wide, 

So  sleek,  and  bright  in  hue  —  therewith  his  hood  was  gay 

Which  from  his  head  was  doffed,  and  on  his  shoulders  lay. 

Full  tightly  drawn  his  hose,  all  of  the  self-same  green, 

Well  clasped  about  his  calf  —  there-under  spurs  full  keen 

Of  gold  on  silken  lace,  all  striped  in  fashion  bright. 

That  dangled  beneath  his  legs  —  so  rode  that  gallant  knight. 

His  vesture,  verily,  was  green  as  grass  doth  grow. 

The  barring  of  his  belt,  the  blithe  stones  set  arow. 

That  decked  in  richest  wise  his  raiment  fine  and  fair. 

Himself,  his  saddle-bow,  in  silken  broideries  rare, 

'T  were  hard  to  tell  the  half,  so  cunning  was  the  wise 

[9] 


In  which  't  was  broidered  all  with  birds,  and  eke  with  flies! 
Decked  was  the  horse's  neck,  and  decked  the  crupper  bold, 
With  gauds  so  gay  of  green,  the  centre  set  with  gold. 
And  every  harness  boss  was  all  enamelled  green. 
The  stirrups  where  he  stood  were  of  the  self-same  sheen, 
The  saddle-bow  behind,  the  girths  so  long  and  fair. 
They  gleamed  and  glittered  all  with  green  stones  rich  and  rare, 
The  very  steed  beneath  the  self-same  semblance  ware, 

he  rides 

A  green  horse  great  and  tall; 

A  steed  full  stiff  to  guide. 

In  broidered  bridle  all 

He  worthily  bestrides ! 

IX 

Right  gaily  was  the  knight  bedecked,  all  green  his  weed, 
The  hair  upon  his  head,  the  mane  of  his  good  steed. 
Fair  floating  locks  enfold  his  shoulders  broad  and  strong, 
Great  as  a  bush  the  beard  that  on  his  breast  low  hung. 
And,  with  his  goodly  hair  that  hung  down  from  his  head, 
A  covering  round  his  arms,  above  his  elbows,  spread. 
Laced  were  his  arms  below,  e'en  in  the  self-same  way 
As  a  king's  cap-a-dos,  that  clasps  his  neck  alway. 
The  mane  of  that  great  steed  was  well  and  deftly  wrought. 
Well  crisped  and  combed  the  hair,  with  many  a  knot  in- 
caught. 
Folded  with  golden  thread  about  the  green  so  fair, 

[  lo  ] 


Here  lay  a  twist  of  gold,  and  here  a  coil  of  hair. 
In  self-same  wise  the  tail  and  top-most  crest  were  twined, 
A  band  of  brightest  green  the  twain  alike  did  bind, 
Which,  set  with  precious  stones,  hung  the  tail's  length  adown. 
Then,  twisted  in  a  knot,  on  high  the  crest  did  crown. 
There-from  hung  many  a  bell,  of  burnished  gold  so  bright; 
Such  foal  upon  the  fell,  bestridden  by  such  knight, 
Sure  ne'er  within  that  hall  before  of  mortal  sight 

were  seen, 

As  lightning  gleaming  bright 

So  seemed  to  all  his  sheen. 

They  deemed  that  no  man  might 

Endure  his  blows  so  keen. 

X 

Nor  helmet  on  his  head,  nor  hauberk  did  he  wear, 
Gorget  nor  breast-plate  good,  as  knights  are  wont  to  bear; 
Nor  shaft  to  smite,  nor  shield  that  blows  might  well  with- 
stand. 
Naught  but  a  holly  bough  he  carried  In  one  hand, 
(When  all  the  groves  be  bare  then  fullest  Is  its  green). 
And  in  his  other  hand  a  huge  axe,  sharp  and  sheen, 
A  weapon  ill  to  see,  would  one  its  fashion  say. 
The  haft,  it  measured  full  an  ell-yard  long  alway. 
The  blade  of  good  green  steel,  and  all  with  gold  inlaid. 
Right  sharp  and  broad  the  edge,  and  burnished  bright  the 
blade. 

[   II   1 


*T  was  sharpened  well  to  cut,  e'en  as  a  razor  good, 
Right  well  the  steel  was  set  in  staff  so  stiff  of  wood, 
And  iron  bands  to  bind  throughout  the  length  it  bare, 
With  cunning  work  of  green  all  wrought,  and  graven  fair. 
Twined  with  a  lace  that  fell  in  silken  loops  so  soft 
E'en  at  the  head,  adown  the  haft  't  was  caught  full  oft 
With  hanging  tassells  fair  that  silken  threads  entwine, 
And  buttons  of  bright  green,  all  broidered  fair  and  fine. 
Thus  in  the  great  hall  door  the  knight  stood,  fair  and  tall, 
Fearless  and  free  his  gaze,  he  gat  him  down  the  hall, 
Greeting  he  gave  to  none,  but  looked  right  steadily 
Toward  the  royal  seat,  and  quoth,  'Now  where  is  he, 
The  lord  of  all  this  folk?  To  see  him  am  I  fain, 
And  with  himself  would  speak,  might  I  the  boon  attain  1 '  — 

With  frown 

He  looked  upon  the  knights. 

And  paced  him  up  and  down, 

Fain  would  he  know  aright 

Who  was  of  most  renown! 

XI 

Then  each  man  gazed  amain,  each  would  that  hero  see. 
And  each  man  marvelled  much  what  might  the  meaning  be, 
That  man  and  horse,  alike,  of  such  a  hue  were  seen, 
Green  as  the  growing  grass;  and  greener  still,  I  ween. 
E'en  than  enamel  green  on  gold  that  gloweth  bright: 
Then  all  with  one  consent  drew  near  unto  that  knight, 

I    12    ] 


A-marvelling  fell  they  all  who  he  might  be,  ywls, 
For  strange  sights  had  they  seen,  but  none  so  strange  as  this! 
The  folk,  they  deemed  it  well  fantasm,  or  faerie, 
And  none  among  them  all  dare  answer  speedily. 
But  all,  astonied,  gazed,  and  held  them  still  as  stone, 
Throughout  that  goodly  hall,  in  silence  every  one, 
Their  faces  changed,  as  they  by  sleep  were  overcome, 

suddenly, 

I  deem  not  all  for  fear, 

But  some  for  courtesy, 

They  fain  would  lend  an  ear 

And  let  the  Kifng  reply. 

XII 

Arthur  before  his  dai's  beheld  this  marvel  fair, 

And  boldly  did  he  speak  for  dread,  he  knew  it  ne'er  — 

And  said:  'Right  welcome.  Sir,  to  this  my  house  and  hall. 

Head  of  this  hostel  I,  and  Arthur,  men  me  call. 

Alight  from  this  thy  steed,  and  linger  here,  I  pray, 

And  what  thy  will  may  be  hereafter  shalt  thou  say.' 

*So  help  me,'  quoth  the  knight,  'the  God  who  rules  o'er  all, 

I  came  not  here  to  bide  within  thy  castle  wall, 

The  praise  of  this  thy  folk  throughout  the  world  is  told, 

Thy  burg,  thy  barons  all,  bravest  and  best  they  hold. 

The  stiffest  under  steel  who  battle-steed  bestride, 

Wisest  and  worthiest  they,  throughout  the  whole  world  wide. 

Proven  right  well  in  joust,  and  all  fair  knightly  play, 

[   13   1 


Renowned  for  courtesy  —  so  have  I  heard  men  say  — 
And  this  hath  brought  me  here,  e'en  at  this  Yule-tide  fair, 
For  be  ye  well  assured  by  this  green  branch  I  bear 
That  I  would  pass  in  peace,  and  seek  no  battle  here  — 
For  an  it  were  my  will  to  ride  in  warlike  gear 
I  have  at  home  an  helm,  and  hauberk  good  and  strong, 
A  shield  and  shining  spear,  with  blade  both  sharp  and  long, 
And  other  weapons  good,  that  well  a  knight  beseem. 
But  since  I  seek  no  war  my  weeds  are  soft,  I  ween, 
And  if  ye  be  so  bold  as  all  men  say  ye  be 
The  favour  that  I  ask  ye  sure  will  grant  to  me 

of  right,' 
Arthur,  he  was  not  slow 
To  speak,  '  I  trow.  Sir  Knight, 
An  here  thou  seek'st  a  foe 
Thou  shalt  not  fail  for  fight!' 

XIII 

*Nay,  here  I  crave  no  fight,  in  sooth  I  say  to  thee, 

The  knights  about  thy  board  but  beardless  bairns  they  be. 

An  I  were  fitly  armed,  upon  this  steed  so  tall. 

For  lack  of  strength  no  man  might  match  me  in  this  hall  I 

Therefore  within  thy  court  I  crave  a  Christmas  jest, 

'T  is  Yuletide,  and  New  Year,  and  here  be  many  a  guest, 

If  any  in  this  hall  himself  so  hardy  hold, 

So  valiant  of  his  hand,  of  blood  and  brain  so  bold. 

That  stroke  for  counter-stroke  with  me  exchange  he  dare, 

I   14  ] 


I  give  him  of  free  gift  this  gisarme  rich  and  fair, 
This  axe  of  goodly  weight,  to  wield  as  he  see  fit, ; 
And  I  will  bide  his  blow,  as  bare  as  here  I  sit. 
If  one  will  test  my  words,  and  be  of  valiant  mood. 
Then  let  him  swiftly  come,  and  take  this  weapon  good,  — 
Here  I  renounce  my  claim,  the  axe  shall  be  his  own  — 
And  I  will  stand  his  stroke,  here,  on  this  floor  of  stone, 
That  I  in  turn  a  blow  may  deal,  that  boon  alone 

I  pray, 

Yet  respite  shall  he  have 

A  twelvemonth,  and  a  day. 

Now  quickly  I  thee  crave  — 

Who  now  hath  aught  to  say?* 

XIV 

If  erst  they  were  amazed,  now  stiller  sat  they  all. 
Both  high  and  low,  those  knights  within  King  Arthur's  hall, 
The  knight  upon  his  steed  he  sat  him  fast  and  true, 
And  round  about  the  hall  his  fierce  red  eyes  he  threw. 
From  'neath  his  bushy  brows,  (all  green  they  were  in  hue,) 
Twisting  his  beard  he  waits  to  see  if  none  will  rise, 
When  no  man  proffers  speech  with  mocking  voice  he  cries, 
'What,  is  this  Arthur's  house?   Is  this  his  gallant  band 
Whose  fame  hath  run  abroad  through  many  a  realm  and  land? 
Where  be  your  vaunted  pride?    Your  conquests,  where  be 

they  ? 
Your  wrath,  and  fierceness  fell,  your  boastful  words  alway? 

I  15  ] 


^ix  &a^ain  anb  t^t  (Stem  (^ni^U 

Now  is  the  Table  Round,  its  revel  and  renown, 
O'er-thrown  with  but  a  word  from  one  man's  mouth  alone, 
Since  none  dare  speak  for  dread  tho'  ne'er  a  dint  he  seel — * 
With  that  he  laughed  so  loud  Arthur  must  shamed  be,  . 
And  in  his  face  so  fair  the  blood  rose  ruddily 

alight, 

As  wind  waxed  wroth  the  King 

And  every  gallant  knight, 

In  words  of  warlike  ring 

He  hailed  that  man  of  might. 

XV    . 

And  quoth,  *  By  Heaven,  Sir  Knight,  thou  speakest  foolishly, 
But  what  thy  folly  craves  we  needs  must  grant  to  thee, 
I  trow  no  knight  of  mine  thy  boastful  words  doth  fear, 
That  goodly  axe  of  thine  in  God's  name  give  me  here, 
And  /  will  give  the  boon  which  thou  dost  here  demand!* 
With  that  he  lightly  leapt,  and  caught  him  by  the  hand,". 
Then  lighted  down  the  knight,  before  the  King  he  stood, 
And  Arthur,  by  the  haft  he  gripped  that  axe  so  good. 
And  swung  it  sternly  round,  as  one  who  thought  to  smite, 
Before  him  on  the  floor  he  stood,  that  stranger  knight, 
Taller  by  full  a  head  than  any  in  the  hall. 
With  stern  mien  did  he  stand,  and  stroked  his  beard  withal, 
And  drew  his  coat  adown,  e'en  with  unruffled  cheer. 
No  more  was  he  dismayed  for  threats  he  needs  must  hear 
Than  at  the  royal  board  one  bare' a  cup  anear 

[  i6  ]         . 


of  wine, 
Gawain  from  out  his  place 
Spake  fitting  words  and  fine, 
'  I  pray  thee  of  thy  grace 
Be  this  adventure  mine  I' 


XVI 

Quoth  Gawain  to  the  King,  *  I  pray  right  worthily 
Thou  bid  me  quit  this  seat,  and  take  my  stand  by  thee, 
That  so  without  reproach,  I  from  this  board  may  rise, 
And  that  it  be  not  ill  in  my  liege  lady's  eyes, 
I'll  to  thy  counsel  come  before  this  royal  court, 
Unfitting  do  I  deem  that  such  a  boon  be  sought, 
And  such  a  challenge  raised  In  this  your  goodly  hall  * 
That  thou  thyself  be  fain  to  answer  it  withal, 
While  many  a  valiant  knight  doth  sit  beside  thee  still  — 
I  wot  there  be  'neath  Heaven  no  men  of  sterner  will. 
Nor  braver  on  the  field  where  men  fight  as  is  fit  — 
Methinks,  the  weakest  I,  the  feeblest  here  of  wit. 
The  less  loss  of  my  life,  if  thou  the  sooth  would'st  sayl 
Save  as  thy  near  of  kin  no  praise  were  mine  alway, 
No  virtue  save  thy  blood  I  in  my  body  know! 
Since  this  be  folly  all,  nor  thine  to  strike  this  blow, 
And  I  have  prayed  the  boon,  then  grant  it  unto  me. 
This  good  court,  an' I  bear  myself  ungallantly, 

may  blame  1' 
Together  did  they  press, 

•      [   17  ] 


Their  counsel  was  the  same, 
To  free  the  King,  no  less, 
And  give  Gawain  the  game. 

XVII 

Then  did  the  King  command  that  gallant  knight  to  rise, 
And  swiftly  up  he  gat  in  fair  and  courteous  wise, 
And  knelt  before  his  lord,  and  gripped  the  axe's  haft, 
The  King,  he  loosed  his  hold,  and  raised  his  hand  aloft. 
And  blessed  him  in  Christ's  Name,  and  bade  him  in  good  part 
To  be  of  courage  still,  hardy  of  hand  and  heart. 
'Now,  Nephew,  keep  thee  well,'  he  quoth,  'deal  but  one  blow, 
And  if  thou  red'st  him  well,  in  very  truth  I  know 
The  blow  that  he  shall  deal  thou  shalt  right  well  withstand!' 
Gawain  strode  to  the  knight,  the  gisarme  in  his  hand. 
Right  boldly  did  he  bide,  no  whit  abashed,  I  ween. 
And  frankly  to  Gawain  he  quoth,  that  knight  in  green, 
'Make  we  a  covenant  here,  ere  yet  we  further  go, 
And  first  I  ask,  Sir  Knight,  that  I  thy  name  may  know, 
I  bid  thee  tell  me  true,  that  I  assured  may  be  — ' 
*r  faith,'  quoth  that  good  knight,  'Gawain,  I  wot,  is  he 
Who  giveth  thee  this  blow,  be  it  for  good  or  ill, 
A  twelvemonth  hence  I'll  take  another  at  thy  will. 
The  weapon  be  thy  choice,  I'll  crave  no  other  still 

alive!' 
The  other  quoth  again, 
'Gawain,  so  may  I  thrive, 
[   i8  ] 


But  I  shall  take  full  fain, 

The  dint  that  thou  shalt  drive!* 


XVIII 

*By  Christ/  quoth  the  Green  Knight,  'I  trow  I  am  full  fain 
The  blow  that  here  I  craved  to  take  from  thee,  Gawain, 
And  thou  hast  well  rehearsed,  in  fashion  fair,  I  trow, 
The  covenant  and  the  boon  I  prayed  the  king  but  now; 
Save  that  thou  here.  Sir  Knight,  shalt  soothly  swear  to  me 
To  seek  me  out  thyself,  where  e'er  it  seemeth  thee 
I  may  be  found  on  field,  and  there  in  turn  demand 
Such  dole  as  thou  shalt  deal  before  this  goodly  band!' 
'Now,'  quoth  the  good  Gawain,  'by  Him  who  fashioned  me, 
I  wot  not  where  to  seek,  nor  where  thy  home  shall  be, 
I  know  thee  not,  Sir  Knight,  thy  court,  nor  yet  thy  name, 
Teach  me  thereof  the  truth,  and  tell  me  of  that  same. 
And  I  will  use  my  wit  to  win  me  to  that  goal, 
And  here  I  give  thee  troth,  and  swear  it  on  my  soul!' 
'Nay,  in  this  New  Year's  tide  it  needs  no  more,  I  ween,'  — 
So  to  the  good  Gawain  he  quoth,  that  knight  in  green, 
'Save  that  I  tell  thee  true  —  when  I  the  blow  have  ta'en,    . 
Which  thou  shalt  smartly  smite  —  and  teach  thee  here  amain 
Where  be  my  house,  my  home,  and  what  my  name  shall  be; 
Then  may'st  thou  find  thy  road,  and  keep  thy  pledge  with  me. 
But  if  I  waste  no  speech,  thou  shalt  the  better  speed. 
And  in  thy  land  may'st  dwell,  nor  further  seek  at  need 

for  fight 

[   19  ] 


Take  thy  grim  tool  to  thee, 
Let  see  how  thou  can'st  smite!' 
Quoth  Gawain,  'Willingly,' 
And  stroked  his  axe  so  bright. 


XIX 

The  Green  Knight  on  the  ground  made  ready  speedily, 
He  bent  his  head  adown,  that  so  his  neck  were  free, 
His  long  and  lovely  locks,  across  the  crown  they  fell, 
His  bare  neck  to  the  nape  all  men  might  see  right  well 
Gawain,  he  gripped  his  axe,  and  swung  it  up  on  high, 
The  left  foot  on  the  ground  he  setteth  steadily 
Upon  the  neck  so  bare  he  let  the  blade  alight. 
The  sharp  edge  of  the  axe  the  bones  asunder  smite  — 
Sheer  thro'  the  flesh  it  smote,  the  neck  was  cleft  in  two, 
The  brown  steel  on  the  ground  it  bit,  so  strong  the  blow. 
The  fair  head  from  the  neck  fell  even  to  the  ground. 
Spurned  by  the  horse's  hoof,  e'en  as  it  rolled  around, 
The  red  blood  spurted  forth,  and  stained  the  green  so  bright. 
But  ne'er  for  that  he  failed,  nor  fell,  that  stranger  knight, 
Swiftly  he  started  up,  on  stiff  and  steady  limb, 
And  stretching  forth  his  hand,  as  all  men  gaped  at  him, 
Grasped  at  his  goodly  head,  and  lift  it  up  again, 
Then  turned  him  to  his  steed,  and  caught  the  bridle  rein. 
Set  foot  in  stirrup-Iron,  bestrode  the  saddle  fair. 
The  while  he  gripped  his  head  e'en  by  the  flowing  hair. 
He  set  himself  as  firm  in  saddle,  so  I  ween, 

[  20  ] 


^ix  (Baxoain  ani  t^t:  (Brem  Q^nig^f 

As  naught  had  ailed  him  there,  tho'  headless  he  was  seen  * 

in  hall; 
He  turned  his  steed  about, 
That  corpse,  that  bled  withal, 
Full  many  there  had  doubt 
Of  how  the  pledge  might  fall! 

XX 

The  head,  within  his  hand  he  held  it  up  a  space, 

Toward  the  royal  dai's,  forsooth,  he  turned  the  face, 

The  eyelids  straight  were  raised,  and  looked  with  glance  so 

clear, 
Aloud  it  spake,  the  mouth,  e'en  as  ye  now  may  hear; 
*  Look,  Gawain,  thou  be  swift  to  speed  as  thou  hast  said,  ^i 
And  seek,  in  all  good  faith,  until  thy  search  be  sped. 
E'en  as  thou  here  didst  swear,  in  hearing  of  these  knights  — 
To  the  Green  Chapel  come,  I  charge  thee  now  aright, 
The  blow  thou  hast  deserved,  such  as  was  dealt  to-day. 
E'en  on  the  New  Year's  morn  I  pledge  me  to  repay. 
Full  many  know  my  name,  ^^  Knight  of  the  Chapel  Green^'*  ' 
To  find  me,  should'st  thou  seek,  thou  wilt  not  fail,  I  ween. 
Therefore  thou  need'st  must  come,  or  be  for  recreant  found  1* 
With  fierce  pull  at  the  rein  he  turned  his  steed  around, 
His  head  within  his  hand,  forth  from^  the  hall  he  rode,  ( 
Beneath  his  horse's  hoofs  the  sparks  they  flew  abroad,  > 
No  man  in  all  the  hall  wist  where  he  took  his  way, 
Nor  whence  that  knight  had  come  durst  any  of  them  say, 

[    21    ] 


what  then? 
The  King  and  Gawaln  there 
They  gazed,  and  laughed  again, 
Proven  it  was  full  fair 
A  marvel  unto  men ! 


XXI 

Tho'  Arthur  in  his  heart  might  marvel  much,  I  ween, 
No  semblance  in  his  speech  of  fear  or  dread  was  seen 
Unto  the  Queen  he  quoth,  in  courteous  wise,  and  gay, 
'Dear  lady,  at  this  tide  let  naught  your  heart  dismay, 
Such  craft  doth  well,  methinks,  to  Christmas-time  belong. 
When  jests  be  soothly  sought,  with  laugh  and  merry  song. 
And  when  in  carols  gay  our  knights  and  ladies  vie  — 
Natheless  unto  my  meat  I  '11  get  me  presently, 
I  may  not  soon  forget  the  sight  mine  eyes  have  seen!' 
He  turned  him  to  Gawain,  and  quoth  with  gladsome  mien, 
*Now,  Sir,  hang  up  thine  axe,  the  blow  was  soundly  sped!' 
'T  was  hung  above  the  dais,  on  dossel  overhead, 
That  all  within  the  hall  might  look  upon  it  well. 
And  by  that  token  true  the  tale  of  wonder  tell. 
Then  to  the  royal  board  they  sat  them  down,  those  twain. 
The  King,  and  the  good  knight,  and  men  for  service  fain 
As  to  the  noblest  there  with  double  portion  wend  — 
With  meat  and  minstrelsy  the  Yule-tide  feast  they  spend, 
With  joy  they  pass  the  day  till  shades  of  night  descend 

o'er  land, 

[    22    1 


Now  think  thee  well,  Gawain, 
And  fail  not  to  withstand 
The  venture  thou  wast  fain 
To  take  unto  thine  hand! 


BOOK  II 
I 

Now  this  first  venture  fair,  befell  in  the  New  Year 

To  Arthur,  who  such  feats  was  ever  fain  to  hear; 

Altho'  his  words  were  few  whenas  at  meat  they  met; 

But  now  to  task  full  stern  their  hand  methinks  be  set. 

Right  gladly  did  Gawain  begin  these  games  in  hall, 

If  heavy  be  the  end,  small  wonder  were  withal: 

A  man  hath  merry  mind  when  he  hath  drunk  amain, 

Speedy,  the  year  hath  sped  and  cometh  not  again; 

Beginnings  to  their  end  do  all  unlike  appear  — 

The  Yuletide  passed  away;  and  eke  the  after  year 

Each  season  severally  after  the  other  sent; 

When  Christmas-tide  was  past  then  came  the  crabbed  Lent, 

That,  changing  flesh  for  fish,  doth  simpler  food  provide; 

The  weather  of  the  world  with  winter  then  doth  chide, 

The  cold  no  longer  clings,  the  clouds  themselves  uplift, 

Shed  swift  the  rain,  and  warm,  the  showers  of  springtide  drift, 

Fall  fair  upon  the  field,  the  flowers  all  unfold, 

The  grass,  and  e'en  the  groves  all  green  ye  may  behold. 

[  23    ] 


The  birds  begin  to  build,  and  greet,  with  joyful  song, 
Solace  of  summer  sweet,  that  followeth  ere  long  — 

On  bank 

The  blossoms  fair  they  blow 

In  hedgerow  rich  and  rank; 

The  birds  sing  loud  and  low 

In  woodland  deep  and  dank. 

II 

After  the  summer-tide,  with  gentle  winds  and  soft. 
When  zephyr  on  the  sward  and  seeds  doth  breathe  full  oft, 
(Full  gladsome  is  the  growth  waxing  therefrom,  I  ween, 
Whenas  the  dewdrops  drip  from  off  the  leaves  so  green, 
Beneath  the  blissful  beams  of  the  bright  summer  sun)  — 
Then  nigheth  harvest-tide,  hardening  the  grain  anon, 
With  warnings  to  wax  ripe  ere  come  the  winter  cold, 
With  drought  he  drives  the  dust  before  him  on  the  wold, 
From  oflF  the  field  It  flies,  in  clouds  it  riseth  high; 
Winds  of  the  welkin  strive  with  the  sun,  wrathfully, 
The  leaves  fall  from  the  bough,  and  lie  upon  the  ground, 
And  grey  is  now  the  grass  that  erst  all  green  was  found; 
Ripens  and  rots  the  fruit  that  once  was  flower  gay  — 
And  thus  the  year  doth  turn  to  many  a  yesterday. 
Winter  be  come  again,  as  needeth  not  to  say 

the  sage; 

Then,  when  Saint  Michael's  moon 

Be  come  with  winter's  gage 

[   24  1 


^ix  (Bfai^ain  anb  t^t  &xun  (Jfmg^^ 

Gawain  bethinks  him  soon 
Of  his  dread  venture's  wage. 


Ill 

Yet  till  All-Hallows'  Day  with  Arthur  did  he  bide, 

Then  for  his  sake  the  king  a  fair  feast  did  provide, 

Rich  was  the  revel  there  of  the  good  Table  Round, 

There  were  both  courteous  knights  and  comely  ladies  found, 

And  many  sorrowed  sore  all  for  that  good  knight's  sake  — 

Yet  none  the  less  no  sign  of  aught  but  mirth  they  make, 

Tho'  joyless  all  the  jests  they  bandy  at  that  same  — 

With  mourning  after  meat  he  to  his  uncle  came. 

And  of  his  journey  spake,  and  openly  did  say: 

*Now,  liege  Lord  of  my  life,  your  leave  I  fain  would  pray, 

Ye  know  how  stands  the  case,  thereof  no  more  I'll  speak  — 

Since  talk,  it  mendeth  naught,  't  were  trifling  ease  to  seek; 

I  to  the  blow  am  bound,  to-morrow  must  I  fare 

To  seek  the  Knight  in  Green,  God  knoweth  how,  or  where.' 

The  best  knights  in  the  burg  together  then  they  ran, 

Yvain  and  Erec  there,  with  many  another  man, 

Dodinel  le  Sauvage;  the  Duke  of  Clarence  came, 

Lancelot,  Lionel,  and  Lucain,  at  that  same. 

Sir  Boors,  Sir  Bedivere,  (the  twain  were  men  of  might,) 

With  Mador  de  la  Port,  and  many  another  knight. 

Courtiers  in  company  nigh  to  the  king  they  drew, 

For  counselling  that  knight,  much  care  at  heart  they  knew. 

In  dole  so  drear  their  tears  in  hall  together  blend 

I  25  1 


To  think  that  good  Gawain  must  on  such  errand  wend 
Such  dolefull  dint  endure,  no  more  fair  blows  to  spend 

and  free  — 
The  knight  he  made  good  cheer, 
He  quoth:  'What  boots  it  me? 
For  tho'  his  weird  be  drear 
Each  man  that  same  must  dree.*  | 

IV 

He  dwelt  there  all  that  day,  at  early  dawn  besought 

That  men  would  bring  his  arms,  and  all  were  straightway 

brought. 
A  carpet  on  the  floor  they  stretch  full  fair  and  tight, 
Rich  was  the  golden  gear  that  on  it  glittered  bright. 
The  brave  man  stepped  thereon,  the  steel  he  handled  fair, 
A  doublet  dear  of  Tars  they  did  upon  him  there, 
A  cunning  cap-a-dos,  that  fitted  close  and  well, 
All  fairly  lined  throughout,  as  I  have  heard  it  tell. 
They  set  the  shoes  of  steel  upon  the  hero's  feet, 
And  wrapped  the  legs  in  greaves,  of  steel,  as  fit  and  meet. 
The  caps  that  'longed  thereto  polished  they  were  full  clean, 
And  knit  about  the  knee  with  knots  of  golden  sheen. 
Comely  the  cuisses  were  that  closed  him  all  about 
With  thongs  all  tightly  tied  around  his  thighs  so  stout. 
And  then  a  byrnie  bright  with  burnished  steel  they  bring, 
Upon  a  stuff  so  fair  woven  with  many  a  ring. 
And  now  upon  each  arm  they  set  the  burnished  brace 

[  26  ] 


with  elbow  plates  so  good  —  the  metal  gloves  they  lace; 
Thus  all  the  goodly  gear  to  shield  him  was  in  place 

that  tide  — 

Rich  surcoat  doth  he  wear, 

And  golden  spurs  of  pride, 

His  sword  is  girt  full  fair 

With  silk,  upon  his  side. 

V 

When  he  was  fitly  armed  his  harness  rich  they  deem, 
Nor  loop  nor  latchet  small  but  was  with  gold  a-gleam; 
Then,  harnessed  as  he  was,  his  Mass  he  heard  straightway, 
On  the  high  altar  there  an  offering  meet  did  lay. 
Then,  coming  to  the  king,  and  to  the  knights  at  court. 
From  lords  and  ladies  fair  lightly  his  leave  besought. 
They  kissed  the  knight,  his  soul  commending  to  Christ's 

care  — 
Ready  was  Gringalet,  girt  with  a  saddle  fair, 
Gaily  it  gleamed  that  day,  with  fringes  all  of  gold, 
For  this  adventure  high  new  nails  it  bare  for  old. 
The  bridle  barred  about,  with  gold  adorned  well, 
The  harness  of  the  neck,  the  skirts  that  proudly  fell, 
Crupper  and  coverture  match  with  the  saddle-bow, 
On  all  the  red  gold  nails  were  richly  set  a-row, 
They  glittered  and  they  gleamed,  e'en  as  the  sun,  I  wis  — 
The  knight,  he  takes  his  helm,  and  greets  it  with  a  kiss. 
'T  was  hooped  about  with  steel,  and  ail  full  fitly  lined, 

I  27  ] 


He  set  it  on  his  head,  and  hasped  it  close  behind. 
Over  the  visor,  lo !  a  kerchief  lieth  light, 
Broidered  about  and  bound  with  goodly  gems  and  bright, 
On  a  broad  silken  braid  —  there  many  a  bird  is  seen 
The  painted  perroquet  appeareth  there  between 
Turtles  and  true-love  knots,  so  thick  entwined  there, 
As  maids  seven  winters  long  had  wrought  with  labour  fair 

in  town; 
Full  dear  the  circlet's  price 
That  lay  around  the  crown, 
Of  diamonds  its  device 
That  were  both  bright  and  brown. 

VI 

The  shield  they  shewed  him  then,  of  flaming  gules  so  red, 
There  the  Pentangle  shines,  in  pure  gold  burnished. 
On  baldric  bound,  the  shield,  he  to  his  neck  makes  tight, 
Full  well  I  ween,  that  sign  became  the  comely  knight; 
And  why  unto  that  prince  the  badge  doth  well  pertain, 
Tarry  thereby  my  tale,  I  yet  to  tell  am  fain. 
(For  Solomon  as  sign  erst  the  Pentangle  set 
In  tokening  of  truth,  it  bears  that  title  yet.) 
For  't  is  in  figure  formed  of  full  five  points  I  ween. 
Each  line  in  other  laced,  no  ending  there  Is  seen. 
Each  doth  the  other  lock  —  in  English  land,  I  wot, 
It  beareth  everywhere  the  name  of  'Endless  Knot.* 
Therefore  as  fitting  badge  the  knight  this  sign  doth  wear, 

[  28  ] 


For  faithful  he  in  five,  five-fold  the  gifts  he  bare, 
Sir  Gawain,  good  was  he,  pure  as  refined  gold, 
Void  of  all  villainy,  virtue  did  him  enfold, 

and  grace  — 
So  the  Pentangle  new 
Hath  on  his  shield  a  place, 
As  knight  of  heart  most  true, 
Fairest  of  form  and  face. 


VII 

First  was  he  faultless  found  in  his  five  wits,  I  ween; 

Nor  failed  his  fingers  five  where'er  he  yet  had  been; 

And  all  his  earthly  trust  upon  those  five  wounds  lay 

That  Christ  won  on  the  Cross,  e'en  as  the  Creed  doth  say, , 

And  wheresoever  Fate  to  fiercest  fight  did  bring, 

Truly  in  thought  he  deemed,  above  all  other  thing, 

That  all  his  force,  forsooth,  from  those  five  joys  he  drew 

Which  through  her  Holy  Child,  the  Queen  of  Heaven  knew; 

And  for  this  cause  the  knight,  courteous  and  comely,  bare 

On  one  half  of  his  shield  her  image  painted  fair, 

That  when  he  looked  thereon  his  courage  might  not  fail  — 

The  fifth  five  that  I  find  did  much  this  knight  avail 

Were  Frankness,  Fellowship,  all  other  gifts  above, 

Cleanness  and  Courtesy,  that  ever  did  him  move, 

And  Pity,  passing  all  —  I  trow  in  this  fair  five 

That  knight  was  clothed  and  happed  o'er  all  that  be  alive. 

And  all  these  gifts,  fivefold,  upon  that  knight  were  bound, 

I  29  ] 


^ix  (Baioain  an}>  i2}t  (Extern  (Knig^f 

Each  in  the  other  linked,  that  none  an  end  had  found. 
Fast  fixed  upon  five  points,  I  trow,  that  failed  him  ne'er, 
Nor  joined  at  any  side,  nor  sundered  anywhere. 
Nor  was  there  any  point,  so  cunningly  they  blend. 
Where  they  beginning  make,  or  where  they  find  an  end. 
Therefore,  upon  his  shield,  fair-shapen,  doth  that  same 
Sign,  in  fair  red  gold  gleam,  upon  red  gules  aflame. 
Which  the  Pentangle  pure  the  folk  do  truly  name 

with  lore  — 

Armed  is  Sir  Gawain  gay, 

His  lance  aloft  he  bore. 

And  wished  them  all  '  Good-day,' 

He  deemed,  for  evermore. 

vni 

Spurs  to  his  steed  he  set,  and  sprang  upon  his  way. 

So  that  from  out  the  stones  the  sparks  they  flew  alway  — 

Seeing  that  seemly  sight  the  hearts  of  all  did  sink. 

Each  soothly  said  to  each  that  which  they  secret  think, 

Grieved  for  that  comely  knight  —  '  By  Christ,  't  were  pity 

great 
If  yon  good  knight  be  lost,  who  is  of  fair  estate; 
His  peer  on  field  to  find,  i'  faith,  it  were  not  light, 
'T  were  better  to  have  wrought  by  wile,  methlnks,  than 

might! 
Such  doughty  knight  a  duke  were  worthier  to  have  been, 
A  leader  upon  land,  gladly  we  such  had  seen!  — 

[  30  ] 


Such  lot  were  better  far  than  he  were  brought  to  naught, 
Hewn  by  an  elfish  man,  for  gage  of  prideful  thought! 
Did  ever  any  king  obey  such  strange  behest, 
As  risk  a  goodly  knight  upon  a  Christmas  jest?' 
Much  water  warm,  I  ween,  welled  from  the  eyes  of  all, 
Whenas  that  gallant  knight  gat  him  from  Arthur's  hall 

that  day: 

Nor  here  would  he  abide, 

But  swiftly  went  his  way, 

By  toilsome  paths  did  ride, 

E'en  as  the  book  doth  say. 

IX 

Now  rides  Gawain  the  good  thro'  Logres'  realm,  I  trow, 

Forth  doth  he  fare  on  quest  that  seemeth  ill  enow; 

Often,  companionless,  at  night  alone  must  lie. 

The  fare  he  liketh  best  he  lacketh  verily; 

No  fellow  save  his  foal  hath  he  by  wood  or  wold. 

With  none,  save  God  alone,  that  knight  may  converse  hold; 

Till  that  unto  North  Wales  full  nigh  he  needs  must  draw. 

The  isles  of  Anglesey  on  his  left  hand  he  saw; 

And  fared  across  the  ford  and  foreland  at  that  same, 

Over  'gainst  Holyhead,  so  that  he  further  came 

To  Wlrral's  wilds,  methinks,  nor  long  therein  abode 

Since  few  within  that  land,  they  love  or  man,  or  God! 

And  ever  as  he  fared  he  asked  the  folk,  I  ween. 

If  they  had  heard  men  tell  tale  of  a  Knight  in  Green 

[  31   1 


In  all  that  land  about?  Or  of  a  Chapel  Green?  ' 

And  all  men  answered,  'Nay,'  naught  of  that  knight  they 

knew, 
And  none  had  seen  with  sight  a  man  who  bare  such  hue 

as  green; 
The  knight  took  roads  full  strange, 
And  rugged  paths  between, 
His  mood  full  oft  did  change 
Ere  he  his  goal  had  seen. 

X 

Full  many  a  cliff  he  climbs  within  that  country's  range. 
Far  flying  from  his  friends  he  rideth  lone  and  strange; 
At  every  ford  and  flood  he  passed  upon  his  way 
He  found  a  foe  before,  of  fashion  grim  alway. 
So  foul  they  were,  and  fell,  that  he  of  needs  must  fight  — 
So  many  a  marvel  there  befell  that  gallant  knight 
That  tedious  't  were  to  tell  the  tithe  thereof,  I  ween  — 
Sometimes  with  worms  he  warred,  or  wolves  his  foes  have 

been; 
Anon  with  woodmen  wild,  who  in  the  rocks  do  hide  — 
Of  bulls,  or  bears,  or  boars,  the  onslaught  doth  he  bide; 
And  giants,  who  drew  anigh,  from  off  the  moorland  height; 
Doughty  in  durance  he,  and  shielded  by  God's  might 
Else,  doubtless,  had  he  died,  full  oft  had  he  been  slain. 
Yet  war,  it  vexed  him  less  than  winter's  bitter  bane, 
When  the  clear  water  cold  from  out  the  clouds  was  shed, 

[  32  1 


And  froze  ere  yet  it  fell  on  fallow  field  and  dead; 
Then,  more  nights  than  enow,  on  naked  rocks  he  lay, 
And,  half  slain  with  the  sleet,  in  harness  slept  alway. 
While  the  cold  spring  that  erst  its  waters  clattering  flung 
From  the  cliff  high  o'erhead,  in  icicles  now  hung. 
In  peril  thus,  and  pain,  and  many  a  piteous  plight 
Until  the  Yuletide  Eve  alone  that  gallant  knight 

did  fare; 

Sir  Gawain,  at  that  tide. 

To  Mary  made  his  prayer, 

For  fain  he  was  to  ride 

Where  he  might  shelter  share. 

XI 

That  morn  beside  a  mount  his  road  the  knight  doth  keep. 
Threading  a  forest  wild,  with  ways  both  strange  and  deep; 
High  hills  on  either  hand,  and  holts  full  thick  below. 
Where  hoar  oaks,  hundredfold,  do  close  together  grow; 
Hazel  and  hawthorn  there,  in  tangled  thicket  clung, 
Ragged  and  rough,  the  moss  o'er  all  a  covering  flung. 
And  many  birds  unblithe,  on  boughs  ye  might  behold, 
Piping  full  piteously,  for  pain  of  bitter  cold. 
Gawain,  on  Gringalet,  fares  lonely  thro'  the  glade. 
Thro'  many  a  miry  marsh,  at  heart  full  sore  afraid 
That  he  no  shelter  find,  that,  as  was  fit  and  right 
He  serve  betimes  that  Sire,  who,  on  that  selfsame  night 
Was  of  a  Maiden  born,  our  bale  to  cure,  I  trow  — 

[  33  1 


Therefore  he,  sighing,  said:  'Lord  Christ,  I  pray  Thee  now, 
And  Mary  Mother  mild,  for  her  Son's  sake  so  dear, 
A  haven  I  may  find.  Thy  mass  may  fitly  hear. 
And  matins  at  the  morn  —  meekly  I  crave  this  boon, 
And  Paternoster  pray,  and  Ave  too,  right  soon, 

with  Creed  — ' 

Thus  praying,  did  he  ride. 

Confessing  his  misdeed. 

Crossing  himself,  he  cried: 
'Christ's  Cross  me  better  speed!' 

XII 

Scarce  had  he  signed  himself,  I  ween,  of  times  but  three, 
When  there  within  the  wood  a  dwelling  doth  he  see; 
Above  a  laund,  on  lawe,  shaded  by  many  a  bough. 
About  its  moat  there  stand  of  stately  trees  enow. 
The  comeliest  castle  sure,  for  owner  strong  and  stout, 
Set  in  a  meadow  fair  with  park  all  round  about, 
Within  a  palisade  of  spikes  set  thick  and  close, 
For  more  than  two  miles  round  the  trees  they  fast  enclose; 
Sir  Gawain,  from  the  side  of  that  burg  was  aware. 
Shimmered  the  walls,  and  shone,  thro'  oaken  branches  bare. 
Then  swift  he  doffed  his  helm,  thanking,  I  trow,  that  day 
Christ,  and  Saint  Julian,  that  they  had  heard  alway 
Courteous,  his  piteous  prayer,  and  hearkened  to  his  cry  — 
'Now  grant  me,'  quoth  the  knight,  'here  right  good  hostelry.' 
Then  pricked  he  Gringalet,  with  spurs  of  golden  sheen,  • 

[  34  ] 


The  good  steed  chooseth  well  the  chiefest  gate,  I  ween. 

And  swift  to  the  bridge  end,  he  comes,  the  knight  so  keen, 

at  last; 
The  bridge  aloft  was  stayed, 
The  gates  were  shut  full  fast, 
The  walls  were  well  arrayed, 
They  feared  no  tempest's  blast. 

XIII 

The  knight  upon  the  bank  his  charger  there  doth  stay, 

Beyond  the  double  ditch  that  round  the  castle  lay. 

The  walls,  in  water  set  they  were,  and  wondrous  deep, 

And  high  above  his  head  it  towered,  the  castle  keep; 

Of  hard  stone,  fitly  hewn,  up  to  the  corbels  fair. 

Beneath  the  battlements  the  stones  well  shapen  were. 

Above  't  was  fairly  set  with  turrets  in  between. 

And  many  a  loop-hole  fair  for  watchman's  gaze  so  keen. 

A  better  barbican  had  never  met  his  eye  — 

Within,  the  knight  beheld  a  goodly  hall  and  high, 

The  towers  set  between  the  bristling  battlements, 

Round  were  they,  shapen  fair,  of  goodly  ornament. 

With  carven  capitals,  by  cunning  craft  well  wrought. 

Of  chalk-white  chimneys  too,  enow  they  were  he  thought. 

On  battled  roof,  arow,  they  shone,  and  glittered  white, 

And  many  a  pinnacle  adorned  that  palace  bright. 

The  castle  cornices  they  crowned  everywhere 

So  white  and  thick,  it  seemed  they  pared  from  paper  were. 

[  35  ] 


Gawain  on  Gringalet  right  good  the  castle  thought 
So  he  might  find  within  the  shelter  that  he  sought, 
And  there,  until  the  feast  to  fitting  end  were  brought 

might  rest, 
He  called,  a  porter  came, 
With  fair  speech,  of  the  guest 
He  craved  from  wall  his  name. 
And  what  were  his  behest? 


XIV 

*Good  Sir,'  then  quoth  Gawain,  Mo  thou  for  me  this  task. 

Get  thee  unto  thy  lord,  and  say  I  shelter  ask.' 

*Nay,  by  Saint  Peter  good,'  the  porter  quoth,  "t  is  well 

Welcome  be  ye.  Sir  Knight,  within  these  walls  to  dwell 

Long  as  it  liketh  ye.'  Then  swift  his  way  he  went. 

As  swiftly  came  again,  with  folk  on  welcome  bent. 

The  drawbridge  let  adown,  from  out  the  gate  they  came, 

And  on  the  ground  so  cold  they  knelt  low  at  that  same. 

To  welcome  that  good  knight  in  worthy  wise  that  tide; 

They  shew  to  him  the  gate  with  portals  opened  wide. 

Then  o'er  the  bridge  he  gat,  with  greeting  gay,  the  knight, 

Serjants  his  stirrups  seize,  and  bid  him  swift  alight. 

To  stable  that  good  steed  the  men  run  readily. 

The  knights  and  squires,  they  come  adown  full  speedily. 

To  bring  that  gentle  knight  with  bliss  unto  the  hall  — 

Whenas  he  raised  his  helm  they  hasted  one  and  all. 

To  take  it  from  his  hand,  to  serve  him  are  they  fain, 

[  36  ] 


His  goodly  sword  and  shield,  in  charge  they  take  the  twain. 
Then  greeting  good  he  gave  those  nobles,  every  one. 
The  proud  men,  pressing  nigh,  to  him  have  honour  done, 
Still  in  his  harness  happed,  to  hall  they  lead  him  there, 
Upon  the  floor  there  flamed  a  fire  both  fierce  and  fair, 
The  castle's  lord  doth  come  forth  from  his  chamber  door, 
To  greet,  with  fitting  grace,  his  guest  upon  the  floor. 
He  quoth:  'Be  welcome  here  to  stay  as  likes  ye  still, 
For  here  all  is  your  own  to  have  at  your  own  will, 

and  hold  — ' 
'Gramercy,'  quoth  Gawain, 
'Of  Christ  be  payment  told,' 
In  courteous  wise  the  twain 
Embrace  as  heroes  bold. 

XV 

Gawain  gazed  on  the  knight,  who  goodly  greeting  gave. 
And  deemed  that  burg  so  bright  was  owned  of  baron  brave. 
For  huge  was  he  in  height,  and  manhood's  age  he  knew. 
His  broad  beard  on  his  breast,  as  beaver  was  its  hue. 
i\nd  stalwart  in  his  stride,  and  strong,  and  straight,  was  he. 
His  face  was  red  as  fire,  and  frank  his  speech  and  free. 
In  sooth.  Sir  Gawain  thought,  'T  would  'seem  him  well  on  land 
To  lead  in  lordship  good  of  men  a  gallant  band. 
The  lord,  he  led  the  way  unto  a  chamber  there. 
And  did  his  folk  command  to  serve  him  fit  and  fair. 
Then  at  his  bidding  came  full  many  a  gallant  knight 

[  37  ] 


They  led  him  to  a  bower,  with  noble  bedding  dight. 
The  curtains  all  of  silk,  and  hemmed  with  golden  thread. 
And  comely  coverings  of  fairest  cloth  o'er  spread. 
Above,  of  silk  so  bright,  the  broideries  they  were, 
The  curtains  ran  on  ropes,  with  rings  of  red  gold  fair. 
Rich  tapestries  of  Tars,  and  Toulouse,  on  the  wall 
Hung  fair,  the  floor  was  spread  with  the  like  cloth  withal. 
And  there  did  they  disarm,  with  many  a  mirthful  rede, 
The  knight  of  byrnie  bright,  and  of  his  warlike  weed. 
Then  rich  robes  in  their  stead,  I  trow,  they  swiftly  brought, 
And  for  the  change  they  chose  the  choicest  to  their  thought. 
Then  soon  he  did  them  on,  and  I  would  have  ye  know, 
Right  well  became  the  knight  those  skirts  of  seemly  flow. 
That  hero,  fair  of  face,  he  seemed  verily, 
To  all  men  who  his  mien  and  hue  might  nearer  see 
So  sweet  and  lovesome  there,  of  limb  so  light,  they  thought 
That  never  Christ  on  earth  a  comelier  had  wrought  — 

That  knight 

Thro*  the  world  far  and  near 

Might  well  be  deemed  of  right 

A  prince  with  ne'er  a  peer 

In  field  of  fiercest  fight. 

XVI 

A  chair  before  the  fire  of  charcoal,  burning  bright. 

They  set  for  good  Gawain,  with  cloth  all  draped  and  dight. 

Cushion  and  footstool  fit,  the  twain  they  were  right  good, 

[  38  1 


Then  men  a  mantle  cast  around  him  as  he  stood, 
*T  was  of  a  bliaunt  brown,  broldered  in  rich  device, 
And  fairly  furred  within  with  pelts  of  goodly  price, 
Of  whitest  ermine  all,  and  even  so  the  hood. 
Down  in  that  seemly  seat  he  sat,  the  gallant  good, 
And  warmed  him  at  the  fire  —  then  bettered  was  his  cheer; 
On  trestles  fairly  set  they  fix  a  table  near 
And  spread  it  with  a  cloth,  that  shewed  all  clean  and  white. 
Napkin  and  salt-cellar  with  silver  spoons  so  bright. 
The  knight  washed  at  his  will,  and  set  him  down  to  eat, 
Serjants,  they  served  him  there  in  seemly  wise  and  meet; 
With  diverse  dishes  sweet,  and  seasoned  of  the  best, 
A  double  portion  then  they  set  before  the  guest, 
Of  fishes,  baked  in  bread,  or  broiled  on  glowing  wood. 
Anon  came  fishes  seethed,  or  stewed  with  spices  good, 
With  choicest  dainties  there,  as  pleasing  to  his  taste  — 
The  knight,  he  quoth  full  oft,  a  feast  that  board  had  graced, 
Then  all,  as  with  one  voice,  this  answer  made  in  haste: 

'Fair  Friend, 

This  penance  shall  ye  take. 

It  shall  ye  well  amend!' 

Much  mirth  the  knight  did  make 

For  wine  did  gladness  lend. 

XVII 

The  hosts,  in  courteous  wise  the  truth  are  fain  to  know 
Of  this,  their  goodly  guest.  If  he  his  name  will  shew? 

I  39  ] 


As  courteously  he  quoth,  he  from  that  court  did  fare 
Holden  of  good  renown,  where  Arthur  rule  did  bear, 
(Rich,  royal  king  was  he)  o'er  all  the  Table  Round  — 
And  't  was  Gawain  himself  who  here  had  haven  found, 
Hither  for  Christmas  come,  as  chance  had  ruled  it  right  — 
Then  when  the  lord  had  learned  he  had  for  guest  that  knight 
Loudly  he  laughed  for  joy,  he  deemed  such  tidings  good  — 
All  men  within  the  moat  they  waxed  of  mirthful  mood 
To  think  that  they  that  tide  should  in  his  presence  be 
Who,  for  his  prowess  prized,  and  purest  courtesie, 
That  doth  to  him  belong,  was  praised  everywhere, 
Of  all  men  upon  earth  none  might  with  him  compare. 
Each  to  his  fellow  said,  full  softly,  'Now  shall  we 
The  seemly  fashion  fair  of  courts  full  fitly  see, 
With  faultless  form  of  speech,  and  trick  of  noble  word, 
What  charm  in  such  may  be  that  shall,  unasked,  be  heard 
Since  here  the  father  fine  of  courtesie  we  greet. 
Methinks  Christ  sheweth  us  much  grace,  and  favour  meet, 
In  granting  us  such  guest  for  Yule  as  good  Gawain: 
When  men,  blithe  for  His  birth,  to  sit,  methinks,  are  fain, 

and  sing. 

Customs  of  courtesie 

This  knight  to  us  shall  teach 

And  from  his  lips  maybe 

We  '11  learn  of  love  the  speech.' 


[  40  ] 


^ix  (Baxoatn  ani  i^t  &xun  (Rni^U 

XVIII 

By  that  was  dinner  done,  the  knight  from  table  rose, 
The  eventide  drew  nigh,  the  day  was  near  its  close, 
The  chosen  chaplains  there  to  chapel  go  forthright, 
Loudly  the  bells  they  ring,  e'en  as  was  fit  and  right. 
To  solemn  evensong  of  this  High  Feast  they  go  — 
The  lord  the  prayers  would  hear,  his  lady  fair  also,    . 
To  comely  closet  closed  she  entereth  straightway; 
And  even  so,  full  soon,  follows  Sir  Gawain  gay. 
The  lord  his  lappet  took,  and  led  him  to  a  seat. 
Hailing  him  by  his  name,  in  guise  of  friendship  meet. 
Of  all  knights  in  the  world  was  he  most  welcome  there  — 
He  thanked  him,  and  the  twain  embrace  with  kisses  fair. 
And  soberly  they  sit  throughout  the  service  high  — 
Then  't  was  the  lady's  will  to  see  that  knight  with  eye, 
With  many  a  maiden  fair  she  cometh  from  her  place. 
Fairest  was  she  in  skin,  in  figure,  and  in  face, 
Of  height  and  colour  too,  in  every  way  so  fair 
That  e'en  Gaynore,  the  queen,  might  scarce  with  her  compare. 
She  thro'  the  chancel  came,  to  greet  that  hero  good. 
Led  by  another  dame,  who  at  her  left  hand  stood; 
Older  she  was,  I  trow,  and  reverend  seemingly, 
With  goodly  following  of  nobles,  verily; 
But  all  unlike  to  sight,  I  trow,  those  ladies  were, 
Yellow,  the  older  dame,  whereas  the  first  was  fair. 
The  cheeks  of  one  were  red,  e'en  as  the  rose  doth  glow. 
The  other,  wrinkles  rough,  in  plenty,  did  she  shew. 

[  41   ] 


The  younger,  kerchiefs  soft,  with  many  a  pearl  so  white. 
Ware,  that  her  breast  and  throat  full  well  displayed  to  sight, 
Whiter  they  were  than  snow  that  on  the  hills  doth  lie  — 
The  other's  neck  was  veiled  in  gorget  folded  high, 
That  all  her  chin  so  black  was  swathed  in  milk-white  folds; 
Her  forehead  all,  I  ween,  in  silk  was  rapped  and  rolled, 
Broidered  it  was  full  fair,  adorned  with  knots  enow. 
Till  naught  of  her  was  seen  save  the  black  bristly  brow. 
Her  eyes,  her  nose,  I  ween,  and  eke  her  lips,  were  bare 
And  those  were  ill  to  see,  so  bleared  and  sour  they  were  — 
Meet  mistress  upon  mold,  so  men  might  her  declare 

that  tide  — 

Short  and  thick-set  was  she, 

Her  hips  were  broad  and  wide, 

And  fairer  far  to  see 

The  lady  at  her  side. 

XIX 

When  Gawain  saw  that  dame,  gracious  of  mien,  and  gay, 
Leave  from  his  host  he  craved,  and  t'wards  her  took  his  way; 
The  elder,  bowing  low,  he  fittingly  doth  greet, 
Lightly  within  his  arms  he  folds  the  lady  sweet 
Gives  her  a  comely  kiss,  as  fit  from  courteous  knight; 
She  hailed  him  as  her  friend  —  a  boon  he  prays  forthright, 
Her  servant  would  he  be,  an  so  her  will  it  were  — 
Betwixt  the  twain  he  walks,  and,  talking  still,  they  fare 
To  hall,  and  e'en  to  hearth,  and  at  the  lord's  command 

[  42  ] 


spices  in  plenty  great  are  ready  to  their  hand, 
With  wine  that  maketh  gay  at  feast  time,  as  is  meet  — 
The  lord,  in  laughing  wise,  he  sprang  unto  his  feet. 
Bade  them  make  mirth  enow  —  all  men  his  words  must  hear  — 
His  hood  he  doffed  from  head,  and  hung  it  on  a  spear, 
And  quoth  that  that  same  man  worship  thereof  should  win 
Who  made  the  greatest  mirth  that  Christmas-tide  within: 
*I'll  fail  not,  by  my  faith,  to  frolic  with  the  best. 
Ere  that  my  hood  I  lose  —  with  help  of  every  guest.* 
And  thus,  with  joyous  jest  the  lord  doth  try  withal 
To  gladden  Sir  Gawain  with  games  in  this  his  hall 

that  night; 
Till  that  the  torches'  flare 
He  needs  must  bid  them  light, 
Gawain  must  from  them  fare 
And  seek  his  couch  forthright. 

XX 

Then,  on  the  morrow  morn,  when  all  men  bear  in  mind 
How  our  dear  Lord  was  born  to  die  for  all  mankind, 
Joy  in  each  dwelling  dwells,  I  wot  well,  for  His  sake. 
So  did  it  there  that  day,  when  men  High  Feast  would  make; 
For  then,  at  every  meal,  messes,  full  richly  dressed, 
Men  served  upon  the  dais,  with  dainties  of  the  best; 
That  ancient  lady  there  doth  fill  the  highest  seat, 
The  castle's  lord,  I  trow,  beside  her,  as  was  meet. 
Sir  Gawain  hath  his  place  beside  that  lady  gay 

[43  1 


At  midmost  of  the  board,  when  meat  was  served  alway. 
And  then,  thro'  all  the  hall,  each  one,  as  'seemed  him  best, 
Sat,  each  in  his  degree  —  fitly  they  served  each  guest. 
Much  meat  had  they  and  mirth,  with  joy  and  merry  song, 
Methinks  to  tell  thereof  would  take  me  over-long 
Altho'  perchance  I  strove  to  tell  that  tale  as  meet  — 
I  wot  well  that  Gawain,  and  this,  the  lady  sweet. 
In  their  fair  fellowship  much  comfort  needs  must  find, 
In  the  dear  dalliance  of  words  and  glances  kind, 
And  converse  courteous,  from  all  unfitness  free  — 
Such  pastime  fitting  were  for  prince  in  purity  — 

Sweet  strain 

Of  trump  and  piping  clear 

And  drum,  doth  sound  amain; 

Each  doth  his  minstrel  hear, 

And  even  so  the  twain. 

XXI 

Much  mirth  they  made  that  day,  and  e'en  the  morrow's  morn 
Nor  slackened  of  the  feast  when  the  third  day  was  born; 
The  joy  of  sweet  Saint  John,  gentle  it  was  to  hear, 
The  folk,  they  deemed  the  feast  fast  to  its  end  drew  near; 
(The  guests  must  needs  depart,  e'en  in  the  dawning  grey) 
Full  early  did  they  rise,  and  serve  the  wine  straightway; 
Danced  carols  merrily,  so,  blithe,  the  day  they  passed, 
And  when  the  hour  waxed  late  they  took  their  leave  at  last. 
Each  one  to  wend  his  way  whenas  the  day  should  break  — 

[  44  ] 


Gawain  would  bid  good-day  —  his  hand  the  lord  doth  take 
To  his  own  chamber  leads,  and  by  the  chimney  wide, 
To  thank  his  guest  full  fain,  he  draweth  him  aside; 
Thanks  him  for  worship  fair  that  he  from  him  had  won, 
And  for  the  honour  high  he  to  his  house  had  done 
By  lending  countenance  unto  this  Christmas  Feast  — 
*0f  honours,  while  I  live,  I  '11  count  this  not  the  least 
That  Gawain  this,  my  guest,  at  Christ's  own  Feast  hath 

been  1 '  — 
*Gramercy,'  quoth  Gawain,  'In  all  good  faith,  I  ween 
The  honour  it  Is  yours,  and  may  Christ  you  repay, 
I  wait  upon  your  word,  to  do  your  will  alway 
As  I  be  bound  thereto  by  night  and  e'en  by  day 

of  right— ' 

The  lord,  he  was  full  fain 

To  keep  with  him  the  knight, 

Then  answered  him  Gawain 

That  he  in  no  wise  might. 

XXII 

The  lord,  he  courteous  prayed  that  he  would  tell  him  there 
What  deed  of  daring  drove  Gawain  afar  to  fare 
E'en  at  this  time  from  court,  and  thus  alone  to  wend. 
Before  this  Holy  Feast  had  come  unto  an  end? 
*In  sooth,  Sir,'  quoth  the  knight,  'Ye  speak  the  truth  alway, 
A  hasty  quest,  and  high,  doth  send  me  on  my  way. 
For  I  myself  must  seek,  and  find,  a  certain  place 

[  45  ] 


And  whitherward  to  wend  I  wot  not,  by  God*s  grace! 
Nor  would  I  miss  my  tryst  at  New  Year,  by  my  soul, 
For  all  the  land  of  Logres!  Christ  help  me  to  my  goal  I 
Therefore  Sir  Host,  I  now  require  ye  without  fail 
To  tell  me  here  in  truth  if  ye  e'er  heard  a  tale 
Told  of  a  Chapel  Green?  Where  such  a  place  may  be? 
The  knight  who  keepeth  it,  green  too,  I  ween,  is  he; 
We  sware  a  forward  fast,  I  trow,  between  us  twain, 
That  I  that  man  would  meet,  might  I  thereto  attain. 
And  to  that  same  New  Year  but  few  days  now  remain  — 
Now  fainer  far  would  I  behold  that  self-same  knight, 
If  so  it  were  God's  will,  than  any  gladder  sight; 
Therefore  with  your  good  will,  I  needs  must  wend  my  way 
Since  I  have,  for  my  quest,  but  three  bare  days  alway; 
Fainer  were  I  to  die  than  fail  in  this  my  quest  — * 
Then,  laughing,  quoth  the  lord:  'Of  needs  must  be  my  guest, 
I  '11  shew  to  thee  thy  goal  ere  yet  the  term  be  o'er 
That  very  Chapel  Green  —  so  vex  thy  soul  no  more. 
Do  thou  in  bed  abide  and  take  thine  ease,  I  pray, 
Until  the  fourth  day  dawn,  with  New  Year  go  thy  way 
And  thou  shalt  reach  thy  goal  ere  yet  it  be  midday. 

So,  still. 

To  the  New  Year  abide 

Then  rise,  thy  goal  is  near 

Men  shall  thee  thither  guide, 

'T  is  not  two  miles  from  here  —  ' 

[  46  ] 


XXIII 

Sir  Gawain,  he  was  glad,  and  laughed  out  gay  and  free, 
*I  thank  ye,  Sire,  for  this,  o'er  all  your  courtesie. 
Achieved  is  this  my  quest,  and  I  shall,  at  your  will 
Within  your  burg  abide,  and  do  your  pleasure  still.* 
The  lord,  he  took  that  knight,  and  set  him  at  his  side, 
And  bade  the  ladies  come  to  cheer  them  at  that  tide. 
The'  they  had,  of  themselves,  fair  solace,  verily  — 
The  host,  for  very  joy,  he  jested  merrily 
As  one  for  meed  of  mirth  scarce  wist  what  he  might  say.  \ 
Then,  turning  to  the  knight,  he  cried  on  him  alway: 
*  Didst  swear  to  do  the  deed  I  should  of  thee  request, 
Now  art  thou  ready  here  to  hearken  my  behest?' 
*Yea,  Sire,  forsooth  am  I,'  so  quoth  that  hero  true 
'While  in  your  burg  I  bide,  servant  am  I  to  youl' 
*Now,'  quoth  the  host,  'methinks,  your  travail  sore  hath  been. 
Here  hast  thou  waked  with  me,  nor  had  thy  fill,  I  ween, 
Of  sustenance,  or  sleep,  —  an  thou  thine  host  wouldst  please 
Thou  shalt  lie  long  in  bed,  and,  lingering,  take  thine  ease 
At  morn,  nor  rise  for  mass,  but  eat  as  thou  shalt  say 
E'en  when  thou  wilt,  my  wife  with  thee  a  while  shall  stay 
And  solace  thee  with  speech,  till  I  my  homeward  way 

have  found. 

For  I  betimes  shall  rise, 

A-hunting  am  I  bound.' 

Gawain,  this,  his  device 

Doth  grant  him  at  that  stound. 

[  47  1 


XXIV 

'First,'  quoth  the  host,  'we'll  make  a  forward  fair  and  free, 
Whate'er  in  wood  I  win  the  profit  thine  shall  be, 
What  cheer  thou  shalt  achieve,  shalt  give  me,  'gainst  my  gain; 
Now  swear  me  here  with  truth  to  keep  this  'twixt  us  twain 
Whate'er  our  hap  may  be,  or  good  or  ill  befall.  — ' 
'By  God,'  quoth  good  Gawain,  'I  grant  ye  this  withal, 
An  such  play  pleaseth  you,  forsooth  it  pleaseth  me  — ' 
'Now,  bring  the  beverage  here,  the  bargain  set  shall  be.' 
So  quoth  the  castle's  lord,  and  each  one  laughed,  I  trow, 
They  drank  and  dallied  there  and  dealt  with  sport  enow, 
Those  lords  and  ladies  fair,  e'en  as  it  liked  them  best, 
And  so,  in  friendship  fair,  with  many  a  courteous  jest, 
They    stood,   and    stayed    awhile,  and    spake   with    softest 

speech. 
Then  kissed  at  parting,  e'en  as  courtesy  doth  teach. 
And  then,  with  service  fit,  and  many  a  torch  alight, 
Unto  his  bed  at  last  they  brought  each  gallant  knight 

again  — 

Yet  ere  their  couch  they  sought 

The  cov'nant  'twixt  the  twain 

The  lord  to  memory  brought, 

For  jesting  was  he  fain. 


[  48   ] 


BOOK  III 


Full  early  ere  't  was  day  the  folk  arise  withal, 

The  guests  would  go  their  way  —  upon  their  grooms  they  call, 

They  busk  them  busily  to  saddle  each  good  steed, 

The  girths  they  tighten  there,  and  truss  the  mails  at  need. 

The  nobles,  ready  all,  in  riding  gear  arrayed, 

Leapt  lightly  to  their  steeds,  their  hand  on  bridle  laid; 

Each  wight  upon  his  way  doth  at  his  will  ride  fast  — 

The  lord  of  all  the  land,  I  wot,  was  not  the  last, 

Ready  for  riding  he,  with  his  men,  at  that  same 

Ate  a  sop  hastily  whenas  from  mass  they  came. 

With  blast  of  bugle  bold  forth  upon  bent  he  'Id  go. 

Ere  yet  the  day  had  dawned  on  the  cold  earth  below. 

He  and  his  knights  bestrode,  each  one,  their  horses  high. 

The  huntsmen  couple  then  the  hounds  right  speedily. 

Then,  calling  on  the  dogs,  unclose  the  kennel  door; 

A  bugle  blast  they  blow,  but  three  notes,  and  no  more. 

Loudly  the  brachets  bay,  and  wake  the  echoes  there, 

They  check  their  hounds  so  good  who  to  the  chase  would 

fare 
A  hundred  men  all  told,  so  doth  the  tale  declare 

ride  fast; 
*  The  trackers  on  the  trail 
The  hounds,  uncoupled,  cast, 

[  49  1 


Thro'  forest,  hill  and  dale 
Rings  loud  the  bugle  blast. 

II 

At  the  first  warning  note  that  bade  the  hunt  awake 
The  deer  within  the  dale  for  dread  they  needs  must  quake; 
Swift  to  the  heights  they  hie  —  but  soon  must  turn  about, 
The  men  in  ambush  hid  so  loud  they  cry  and  shout. 
The  harts,  with  heads  high-held,  they  pass  in  safety  there, 
E'en  so  the  stately  stags  with  spreading  antlers  fair, 
(For  so  the  lords'  command  at  close  time  of  the  year 
That  none  should  lift  his  hand  save  'gainst  the  female  deer.) 
The  hinds  with  'Eag'l  and  'War'  they  hold  the  lines  within, 
The  does  are  driven  back  to  dale  with  deafening  din; 
Swift  as  they  speed,  I  trow,  fair  shooting  might  ye  see, 
The  arrows  striking  true  as  'neath  the  boughs  they  flee; 
Their  broad  heads  deeply  wound,  and,  smitten  on  the  flank, 
The  bleeding  deer  they  fall,  dying,  upon  the  bank. 
The  hounds,  in  hasty  course,  follow  upon  the  trail. 
Huntsmen,  with  sounding  horns,  for  speed  they  do  not  fail, 
Follow  with  ringing  cries  that  cliffs  might  cleave  in  twain; 
The  deer  that  'scape  the  darts,  they  by  the  dogs  are  ta'en, 
Run  down,  and  riven,  and  rent,  within  the  bounds  so  wide, 
Harassed  upon  the  hill,  worried  by  waterside; 
The  men  well  knew  their  craft  of  forest  and  of  flood. 
The  greyhounds  were  full  swift  to  follow  thro'  the  wood, ' 
They  caught  them  ere  the  men  with  arrows,  as  they  stood, 

[  50  ] 


could  smite  — 
The  lord  was  glad  and  gay, 
His  lance  he  wielded  light, 
With  joy  he  passed  the  day 
Till  fell  the  shades  of  night. 


Ill 

The  lord,  he  maketh  sport  beneath  the  woodland  bough,  — 

Sir  Gawain,  that  good  knight,  in  bed  he  lieth  now, 

Hiding,  while  daylight  gleamed  upon  the  walls  without, 

'Neath  costly  cov'ring  fair,  curtained  all  round  about. 

As  he  half  slumbering  lay,  it  seemed  to  his  ear 

A  small  sound  at  his  door  all  sudden  must  he  hear; 

His  head  a  little  raised  above  the  covering  soft. 

He  grasps  the  curtain's  edge,  and  lifteth  it  aloft, 

And  waiteth  warily  to  wot  what  fate  may  hold  — 

It  was  the  lady  fair,  most  lovely  to  behold! 

Gently  she  drew  the  door  behind  her,  closing  tight. 

And  came  toward  the  couch — shamed  was  that  gallant  knight, 

He  laid  him  lightly  down,  and  made  as  tho'  he  slept; 

So  stole  she  to  his  side,  and  light  and  soft  she  stept. 

The  curtain  upward  cast,  within  its  fold  she  crept, 

And  there  upon  his  bed  her  seat  she  soft  doth  take 

Waiting  in  patience  still  until  that  he  awake. 

Cautious  and  quiet,  awhile  the  knight,  half  hidden,  lay. 

And  in  his  conscience  conned  the  case  with  care  alway; 

What  might  the  meaning  be?  He  marvelled  much,  I  trow, 

[  51   ] 


Yet  quoth  within  himself:  'It  were  more  seemly  now 
To  speak  with  gentle  speech,  ask  what  her  will  may  be,  — ' 
So  made  he  feint  to  wake,  and  turned  him  presently 
Lifted  his  eyelids  then,  and  stared,  as  in  amaze. 
Made  of  the  Cross  the  sign,  that  so  his  words  and  ways 

be  wise  — 

Her  chin  and  cheeks  are  sweet 

In  red  and  white  devise, 

Gracious,  she  doth  him  greet 

With  laughing  lips  and  eyes. 

IV 

*  Good-morrow,  Sir  Gawain,'  so  spake  the  lady  fair, 
'A  careless  sleeper  ye,  I  came  ere  ye  were  ware, 
Now  are  ye  trapped  and  ta'en,  as  ye  shall  truly  know, 
I  '11  bind  ye  in  your  bed  ere  that  ye  hence  should  go  I' 
Laughing,  the  lady  lanced  her  jests  at  him  alway. 
Sir  Gawain  answered  blithe:  'Give  ye  good-morrow  gay, 
Know  I  am  at  your  will,  (forsooth  it  pleaseth  me) 
And  here  for  grace  I  yearn,  yielding  me  readily. 
For  where  one  needs  must  yield  to  do  so  swift  were  best!' 
And  thus  he  answer  made,  with  many  a  merry  jest; 
'But  might  I,  Lady  fair,  find  grace  before  your  eyes, 
Then  loose,  I  pray,  your  bonds,  and  bid  your  prisoner  rise, 
I  'Id  get  me  from  this  bed,  and  better  clad,  I  trow, 
I  in  your  converse  kind  comfort  would  find  enow.' 
'Nay,  nay,  forsooth,  beau  Sire,'  so  quoth  that  lady  sweet, 

[  52  ] 


*  Ye  shall  not  rise  from  bed,  I  '11  rede  ye  counsel  meet, 
For  I  shall  hold  ye  here,  since  other  may  not  be, 
And  talk  with  this  my  knight,  who  captive  is  to  me, 
For  well  I  know,  in  sooth,  ye  are  that  same  Gawain 
Worshipped  by  all  the  world  where  ye  to  fare  be  fain; 
For  all  your  honour  praise,  your  gracious  courtesie, 
Or  lords  or  ladies  fair,  all  men  on  earth  that  be! 
Now  are  ye  here,  I  wis,  and  all  alone  we  twain, 
My  lord  to  fare  afield  with  his  free  folk  is  fain, 
The  men,  they  lie  abed,  so  do  my  maidens  all  — 
The  door  is  safely  shut,  and  closed  and  hasped  withal; 
Since  him  whom  all  men  praise  I  in  my  hand  hold  fast, 
I  well  will  use  my  time  the  while  the  chance  doth  last! 

Now  rest, 

My  body's  at  your  will 

To  use  as  ye  think  best, 

Perforce,  I  find  me  still 

Servant  to  this  my  guest!' 

V 

*In  good  faith,'  quoth  Gawain,  'I  now  bethink  me  well, 

I  be  not  such  an  one  as  this  your  tale  would  tell! 

To  reach  such  reverence  as  ye  rehearse  but  now 

I  all  unworthy  were  —  that  do  I  soothly  vow! 

Yet,  God  wot,  I  were  glad,  an  so  ye  thought  It  good, 

If  I  In  word  and  deed  here  at  your  service  stood; 

To  pleasure  this  your  prayer,  a  pure  joy  't  were  to  me.' 

[  53  ]—  ~ 


*In  good  faith,  Sir  Gawain,'  the  lady  answered  free, 
'The  prowess  and  the  praise  that  please  us  ladies  fair 
I  lack  not,  nor  hold  light,  but  little  gain  it  were  — 
Ladies  there  be  enow  to  whom  it  were  more  dear 
To  hold  their  knight  in  hold,  e'en  as  I  hold  ye  here, 
To  dally  daintily  with  courteous  words  and  fair 
That  bring  them  comfort  good,  and  cure  them  of  their  care, 
Than  wealth  of  treasure  told,  or  gold  they  own  withal  — 
But  now  I  praise  the  Lord  who  here  upholdeth  all 
Him  whom  they  all  desire  is  in  my  hold  and  hall 

of  grace!' 

She  made  him  such  good  cheer 

That  lady  fair  of  face, 

The  knight  was  fain  to  hear 
i  And  answer,  in  his  place. 

VI 

He  quoth:  *Now  Mary  Maid  reward  ye,  as  she  may, » 

I  find  your  frankness  fair  and  noble,  sooth  to  say. 

Full  many  folk,  I  trow,  have  well  entreated  me, 

Yet  greater  honour  far  than  all  their  courtesie 

I  count  your  praise,  who  naught  save  goodness   here  shall 

know.' 
'By  Mary  Maid,'  she  quoth,  'methinks  it  is  not  so. 
For  were  my  worth  above  all  women  who  may  live. 
And  all  of  this  world's  wealth  were  in  mine  hand  to  give, 
And  I  were  free  of  choice  a  lord  to  choose  to  me, 

[  54  1 


Then,  for  the  customs  good  I  in  this  knight  must  see, 
For  beauty  debonaire,  for  bearing  blithe  and  gay. 
For  all  that  I  have  heard,  and  hold  for  truth  alway. 
Upon  no  man  on  mold  save  ye  my  choice  were  laid.' 
*I  wot  well,'  quoth  the  knight,  'a  better  choice  ye  made! 
Yet  am  I  proud  of  this,  the  praise,  ye  give  to  me. 
My  sovereign  ye,  and  I  your  servant,  verily. 
Do  yield  me  here  your  knight,  and  may  Christ  ye  repay!' 
They  spake  of  many  things  till  noon  had  passed  away, 
And  aye  the  lady  made  mien  that  she  loved  him  well, 
And  aye  he  turned  aside  her  sweet  words  as  they  fell. 
For  were  she  brightest  maid  of  maidens  to  his  mind, 
The  less  love  would  he  shew,  since  loss  he  thought  to  find 

anon  — 

The  blow  that  should  him  slay, 

And  for  his  blow  was  boon  — 

The  lady  leave  did  pray, 

He  granted  her,  full  soon. 

VII 

Then,  as  she  gave  'good-day,'  she  laughed  with  glance  so  gay, 
And,  standing,  spake  a  word  that  'stonied  him  alway: 
*May  He  who  speedeth  speech  reward  thee  well,  I  trow, 
But  that  ye  be  Gawain  I  much  misdoubt  me  now,'  — 
*And  wherefore?'  quoth  the  knight  in  fashion  frank  and  fair 
Fearing  lest  he  have  failed  in  custom  debonaire: 
The  lady  blessed  him  then,  and  spake  as  in  this  wise: 

[  55  1 


*Gawain  so  good  a  knight  is  holden  in  all  eyes, 
So  clad  in  courtesie  is  he,  in  sooth,  that  ne'er 
Had  he  thus  holden  speech  for  long  with  lady  fair 
But  he  had  craved  a  kiss  by  this,  his  courtesie. 
Or  trifling  token  ta'en  at  end  of  converse  free!' 
Then  quoth  Gawain:  '  Ywis,  if  this  ye  fitting  deem 
I  '11  kiss  at  your  command,  as  doth  a  knight  beseem 
Who  tarrieth  to  ask,  and  doth  refusal  fear — * 
She  clasped  him  in  her  arms,  e'en  as  she  stood  anear, 
Lightly  she  bent  adown,  and  kissed  that  knight  so  free, 
Commending  him  to  Christ,  as  he  her,  courteously  — 
Then,  without  more  ado,  forth  from  the  door  she  went; 
The  knight  made  haste  to  rise,  on  speed  was  he  intent, 
He  called  his  chamberlain,  his  robes  he  chose  anon. 
When  he  was  fitly  garbed  to  mass  he  blithe  has  gone; 
Then  sat  him  down  to  meat,  't  was  served  in  fitting  guise, 
Merry  he  passed  the  day,  and,  till  the  moon  did  rise 

made  game  — 

Better  was  never  knight 

Entreated  of  fair  dame 

Old,  or  of  beauty  bright. 

Than  he  was,  at  that  same. 

vni 

And  aye  the  lord  in  land  finds  sport  unto  his  mind. 
Hunting  o'er  hill  and  heath,  chasing  the  barren  hind, 
So  many  hath  he  slain,  ere  yet  the  sun  was  low, 

[  56  1 


Of  does,  and  other  deer,  a  wonder  't  was  to  know. 
The  folk  together  flock,  whenas  the  end  drew  near 
Quickly  a  quarry  make  of  all  the  slaughtered  deer; 
The  best,  they  bowed  thereto,  with  many  a  knight  to  aid, 
The  fairest  hinds  of  grease  together  they  have  laid, 
Set  them  to  quartering  there,  e'en  as  the  need  doth  ask, 
The  fat  was  set  aside  by  those  who  knew  their  task. 
From  all  uncleanness  freed,  the  flesh  they  sever  there. 
The  chest  they  slit,  and  draw  the  erber  forth  with  care; 
With  knife  both  sharp  and  keen  the  neck  they  next  divide, 
Then  sever  all  four  limbs,  and  strip  off  fair  the  hide. 
The  belly  open  slit,  the  bowels  aside  they  lay. 
With  swift  strokes  of  the  knife  the  knot  they  cut  away; 
They  grip  the  gargiloun,  and  speedily  divide 
Weasand  and  wind-pipe  then,  the  guts  are  cast  aside, 
The  shoulder-blade  around,  with  blade  so  sharp  and  keen. 
They   cut,    and    leave   the    side    whole    and    untouched,   '. 

ween. 
The  breast  they  deftly  carve,  the  halves  they  lie  a-twin, 
And  with  the  gargiloun  their  work  they  now  begin; 
They  rip  it  swiftly  up,  and  take  it  clean  away, 
Void  the  avancers  out,  and  then,  methinks,  straightway 
The  skin  betwixt  the  ribs  they  cut  in  fashion  fair 
Till  they  have  left  them  all  e'en  to  the  backbone  bare. 
So  come  they  to  the  haunch,  that  doth  belong  thereto. 
They  bear  it  up  all  whole,  and  cleanly  cut  it  thro' 
That,  with  the  numbles,  take,  alike  they  be  the  two, 

[  57  ] 


^it  (Balaam  anb  t^t  ^xun  Q^nig^f 

of  kind  — 
Then,  where  the  thighs  divide 
The  flaps  they  cut  behind, 
And  thus,  on  either  side, 
Thighs  from  the  back  unbind. 

IX 

Then  head  and  neck  alike,  they  hew  them  off  with  heed, 

The  sides  from  off  the  chine  are  sundered  now  with  speed. 

The  corbie's  fee  they  cast  into  the  wood  hard  by, 

Each  thick  side  thro'  the  ribs  they  pierce  it,  verily. 

And  hang  them  all  aloft,  fixed  to  the  haunches  fair  — 

Each  fellow  for  his  fee  doth  take  as  fitting  there. 

Then,  on  a  deer's  skin  spread,  they  give  the  hounds  their 

food. 
The  liver,  lights,  and  paunch,  to  keep  the  custom  good, 
And  bread  soaked  in  the  blood  they  scatter  'mid  the  pack  — 
The  hounds,  they  bay  amain,  nor  bugle  blast  doth  lack. 
Thus,  with  the  venison  good,  they  take  the  homeward  way, 
Sounding  upon  their  horns  a  merry  note  and  gay. 
By  that,  the  day  was  done,  the  folk,  with  eventide. 
That  comely  castle  sought,  wherein  their  guest  doth  bide 

full  still  — 

To  bliss  and  firelight  bright 

The  lord  is  come  at  will; 

To  meet  that  goodly  knight  — ■ 

Of  joy  they  had  their  fill! 

[  58  1 


X 
Then  at  the  lord's  command,  the  folk  they  thither  call, 
Quickly  the  ladies  come,  and  maidens,  one  and  all, 
And  there  before  the  folk  he  bids  his  men  straightway, 
The  venison  they  have  brought  before  them  all  to  lay.  , 
And  then,  in  goodly  jest,  he  calleth  Sir  Gawain, 
The  tale  of  that  day's  sport  he  to  rehearse  is  fain, 
Shews  him  how  fair  the  fat  upon  the  ribs,  sharp  shorn, 
And  quoth:  'How  seemeth  this?  Have  I  won  praise  this  morn? 
Am  I,  thro'  this  my  craft,  worthy  of  praise  from  thee?* 
*Yea,  soothly,'  quoth  Gawain,  'the  fairest  game  I  see 
That  I  in  winter-time  have  seen  this  seven  year!* 
'And  all  this,'  quoth  his  host,  'Gawain,  I  give  thee  here 
By  covenant  and  accord,  the  whole  thou  well  may'st  claim.' 
*  'T  is  sooth,'  then  said  the  knight,  'I  grant  ye  at  this  same; 
Won  have  I  worthily  a  prize,  these  walls  within 
Which,  with  as  good  a  will,  ye  now  from  me  must  win.* 
With  that  he  clasps  his  arms  around  his  neck  so  fair 
And  in  right  comely  wise  he  kissed  him  then  and  there, 
'Now  here  hast  thou  my  gain,  no  more  hath  fallen  to  me  — 
I  trow  had  it  been  more  my  gift  were  none  less  free!' 
"T  is  good,'  quoth  the  good  knight,  'nor  shall  my  thanks  be 

slow 
Yet  might  it  better  be,  an  I  the  truth  might  know, 
Where  thou  didst  win  this  grace,  or  by  thy  wit  or  no?* 
*Ask  no  more,'  quoth  Gawain,  'so  did  our  forward  stand, 
Since  ye  have  ta'en  your  right  no  more  may  ye  demand.' 

[  59  ] 


At  will 
They  laughed  and  made  them  gay 
With  many  a  jest  I  trow, 
To  supper  go  straightway, 
With  dainties  new  enow. 


XI 

Then  by  the  hearth  they  sit,  on  silken  cushions  soft, 
And  wine,  within  those  walls,  I  wot,  they  serve  full  oft, 
And,  ever,  as  they  jest,  come  morrow  morn,  they  say 
That  forward  they  '11  fulfil  which  they  had  kept  to-day. 
What  chance  soe'er  betide,  they  will  exchange  their  gain 
When  they  at  nightfall  meet,  be  much  or  little  ta'en. 
This  covenant  they  accord,  in  presence  of  the  court. 
And  beverage  to  the  board    at   that   same   time  was 

brought, 
A  courteous  leave,  at  last,  doth  each  from  other  take. 
And  each  man  for  his  bed  himself  doth  ready  make. 
The  cock  at  early  morn,  had  crowed  and  cackled  thrice 
When  swift,  the  lord  arose,  with  him  his  knights  of  price; 
They  hearken  mass,  and  meat,  with  service  fit,  they  bring. 
Then  forth  to  forest  fare  ere  yet  the  day  doth  spring 

for  chace  — 
With  sound  of  hunter's  horns 
O'er  plain  they  swiftly  pace. 
Uncoupled  midst  the  thorns 
Each  hound  doth  run  on  race. 
[  60  ] 


XII 
Full  soon  they  strike  the  scent,  hard  by  a  rock  withal, 
Huntsmen  cheer  on  those  hounds  who  first  upon  it  fall, 
Loudly,  with  whirling  words,  and  clamour  rising  high. 
The  hounds  that  heard  the  call  haste  hither  at  the  cry. 
Fast  on  the  scent  they  fall,  full  forty  at  that  tide. 
Till  of  the  pack  the  cry  was  heard  both  far  and  wide. 
So  fiercely  rose  their  bay,  the  rocks,  they  rang  again, 
The  huntsmen  with  their  horns  to  urge  them  on  were  fain. 
Then,  sudden,  all  the  pack  together  crowd  and  cry 
Before  a  thicket  dense,  beneath  a  crag  full  high, 
Hard  by  the  water's  edge  —  the  pack,  with  one  consent, 
Run  to  the  rugged  rocks,  which  lie  all  scarred  and  rent. 
Hounds  to  the  finding  fare,  the  men,  they  follow  keen, 
And  cast  about  the  crag,  and  rocks  that  lie  between. 
The  knights,  full  well  they  knew  what  beast  had  here  its 

lair 
And  fain  would  drive  it  forth  before  the  bloodhounds  there. 
Then  on  the  bush  they  beat,  and  bid  the  game  uprise  — 
With  sudden  rush  across  the  beaters,  out  there  hies 
A  great  and  grisly  boar,  most  fearsome  to  behold. 
The  herd  he  long  had  left,  for  that  he  waxed  full  old. 
Of  beast,  and  boar,  methinks,  biggest  and  fiercest  he, 
I  trow  me  at  his  grunt  full  many  grieved  must  be; 
Three  at  the  first  assault  prone  on  the  earth  he  threw. 
And  sped  forth  at  best  speed,  nor  other  harm  they  knew. 
Then  Hey!  and  Hey  I  the  knights  halloo  with  shout  and  cry, 

[  6i  ] 


Huntsmen  with  horn  to  mouth  send  forth  shrill  notes  and 

high, 
Merry  the  noise  of  men  and  dogs,  I  ween,  that  tide 
Who  followed  on  the  boar  —  with  boastful  shout  they  cried 

to  stay  — 
The  hounds'  wrath  would  he  quell 
Oft  as  he  turned  to  bay, 
Loudly  they  yelp  and  yell, 
His  tusks  they  tare  alway.  j 

xni 

The  men  make  ready  then  their  arrows  sharp  and  keen. 

The  darts  they  swiftly  fly,  oft  is  he  hit,  I  ween. 

But  never  point  may  pierce,  nor  on  his  hide  have  hold. 

And  never  barb  may  bite  his  forehead's  fearsome  fold. 

The  shafts  are  splintered  there,  shivered,  they  needs  must 

fall. 
The  heads,  they  bit  indeed,  yet  but  rebound  withal. 
But  when  he  felt  the  blows,  tho'  harmless  all  they  fell. 
Then,  mad  for  rage,  he  turned,  and  'venged  him  passing  well; 
He  rushed  upon  the  knights,  and  wounded  them  full  sore 
Until,  for  very  fear,  they  fled  his  face  before. 
The  lord,  on  steed  swift-paced,  doth  follow  on  his  track, 
Blowing  his  bugle  loud,  nor  valour  doth  he  lack. 
Thus  thro'  the  wood  he  rides,  his  horn  rings  loud  and  low, 
Upon  the  wild  boar's  track  until  the  sun  was  low. 
And  so  the  winter's  day  he  passeth  on  this  wise 

[  62  ] 


The  while  his  goodly  guest  in  bed,  'neath  covering  lies, 
Sir  Gawain  bides  at  home  —  In  gear  of  rich  devise 

and  hue, 
The  dame  made  no  delay- 
To  greet  her  knight  so  true,  , 
Early  she  took  her  way 
To  test  his  mood  anew. 


XIV 

She  to  the  curtain  comes,  and  looks  upon  the  knight, 
Gawain  doth  greet  her  there  in  fitting  wise  and  right; 

She  greeteth  him  again,  ready  of  speech  is  she,    " -• 

Soft  seats  her  at  his  side,  and  laughs  full  merrily. 
Then,  with  a  smiling  glance  these  words  to  him  doth  say: 
*Sir,  an  ye  be  Gawain  I  marvel  much  alway, 
So  stern  ye  be  when  one  would  goodly  ye  entreat, 
Of  courteous  company  ignore  the  customs  meet. 
An  one  be  fain  to  teach,  swift  from  your  mind  they  're  brought — 
Since  all  forgotten  now  what  yesterday  I  taught 
By  truest  tokens  all,  that  well  might  be,  I  trow.' 
'What  is  that?'  quoth  Gawain,  'naught  I  remember  now, 
But  if  't  Is  sooth  ye  speak,  then  blame  I  needs  must  bear.' 
*0f  kissing  was  my  rede;'  so  quoth  the  lady  fair, 
'When  countenance  be  known,  swiftly  a  kiss  to  claim, 
That  doth  become  a  knight  who  beareth  courteous  name!' 
*Nay,  cease,  my  dear,  such  speech,'  so  quoth  the  gallant 
knight, 

[  63   ] 


*A  kiss  I  dare  not  claim,  lest  ye  deny  my  right, 
For  an  ye  did  forbid,  to  take,  I  trow,  were  wrong — ' 
'  I'  faith,'  in  merry  wise  she  spake,  '  ye  be  too  strong, 
Ye  may  not  be  forbid,  since  ye  may  take  with  might 
An  any  do  such  wrong  as  to  deny  thy  right!' 
'  Yea,'  quoth  Gawain, '  by  Christ,  your  speech  it  soundeth  well. 
But  threats  shall  little  thrive  in  that  land  where  I  dwell. 
Nor  count  we  fair  a  gift  that  is  not  proffered  free  — 
I  am  at  your  command,  to  kiss,  if  so  shall  be 
Your  will  —  to  take  or  leave,  as  seemeth  good  to  ye.* 

With  grace, 

She  bent,  that  lady  fair, 

And  gently  kissed  his  face. 

They  hold  sweet  converse  there, 

Of  love-themes  speak  a  space. 

XV 

'Fain  would  I  ask  of  ye,  (that  lady  questioned  free) 
If  so  ye  were  not  wroth,  what  may  the  reason  be 
That  one  so  young  and  fair,  as  ye  be  at  this  tide. 
For  knightly  courtesie  renowned  both  far  and  wide, 
Who  of  all  chivalry  the  head  and  chief  men  hold, 
Versed  in  the  lore  of  love,  and  warfare,  fierce  and  bold  — 
Since  each  true  knight  doth  tell  how  he  did  venture  dare 
(This  token  and  this  sign  his  deeds  perforce  must  bear) 
How  for  a  lady's  love  his  life  at  stake  he  set. 
And  for  her  favour  fair  full  doleful  dints  hath  met, 

-     [  64] 


With  valour  'venged  her  wrongs,  and  cured  her  of  her  care 
Brought  bliss  unto  her  bower,  and  did  her  bounties  share  — 
And  ye  be  comeliest  knight  of  this,  your  land  and  time, 
Your  worship  and  your  words  be  famed  in  every  clime, 
And  I,  two  mornings  long  have  sat  beside  ye  here 
Yet  never  from  your  mouth  a  word  came  to  mine  ear 
That  ever  dealt  with  love,  in  measure  less  or  more; 
But  ye,  so  courteous  held,  so  skilled  in  all  such  lore, 
Surely  to  one  so  young  as  I  should  swiftly  shew 
And  teach  some  token  sure,  whereby  true  love  to  know. 
Are  ye  unlearned  then,  whom  men  so  highly  prize? 
Or  am  I  all  too  dull  for  dalliance,  in  your  eyes? 

For  shame! 

Hither  I  come  and  sit 

To  learn,  as  at  this  same; 

So  teach  me  of  your  wit. 

While  sport  my  lord  doth  claim!' 

XVI 

*In  good  faith,'  quoth  Gawain, '  your  good  deeds  God  repay, 
For  goodly  is  my  glee,  my  profit  great  alway; 
That  one  so  fair  as  ye  doth  deign  betake  ye  here 
To  please  so  poor  a  man,  and  me,  your  knight,  to  cheer 
With  kindly  countenance,  in  sooth  doth  please  me  well  — 
But  that  I,  in  my  turn,  should  here  of  true  love  tell, 
And  take  that  for  my  theme,  (or  tales  of  gallant  knight) 
And  teach  ye,  who  I  wot,  doth  wield  more  skilful  sleight 

[65   ] 


In  such  arts  by  the  half,  or  hundred-fold  indeed, 
Than  I,  long  as  I  live  on  earth  may  win  for  meed, 
'T  were  folly  all  indeed,  sweet  lady,  by  my  fay! 
Your  will  in  troth  I  '11  work  in  such  wise  as  I  may, 
As  duteous  I  am  bound  —  and  ever  more  will  do 
Your  service  faithfully,  God  grant  me  grace  thereto!'    I 
Thus  did  she  ask  him  fair,  and  oft  did  test  and  try, 
To  win  him  here  to  woo,  whate'er  her  will  thereby  — 
But  he  doth  fend  him  fair,  nor  ill  hath  done,  I  ween, 
And  never  deed  of  wrong  hath  chanced  the  twain  between, 

but  bliss  — 

They  laugh  and  talk  amain, 

At  last  she  doth  him  kiss. 

Her  leave  of  him  hath  ta'en, 

And  gone  her  way,  I  wis. 

XVII 

Then  doth  Sir  Gawain  rise,  and  robe  him,  mass  to  hear." 
Then  was  the  dinner  dight,  and  served  with  mickle  cheer; 
Thus,  with  the  ladies  twain,  in  sport  the  day  he  spent. 
The  while  the  lord  doth  chase  the  boar  o'er  bank  and  bent  — 
Follows  the  grisly  swine,  as  o'er  the  holts  It  sped. 
With  broken  back,  his  hounds,  beneath  its  jaws  fall  dead. 
The  boar  would  bide  at  bay,  the  bowmen  grant  no  grace, 
But  force  him  'gainst  his  will  once  more  his  foes  to  face. 
So  fast  the  arrows  fly,  the  folk  they  gather  round. 
Yet  huntsmen  stiff  and  stern,  he  startles  at  that  stound. 

[  66] 


Till  spent  with  flight,  at  last,  he  may  no  further  win, 
But  hies  him  in  all  haste,  until  a  hole  within 
A  mound,  beside  a  rock,  hard  by  the  brooklet's  flow, 
He  gains  —  then  turns  at  bay,  tearing  the  ground  below. 
His  jaws,  they  foam  and  froth,  unseemly  to  behold. 
He  whets  his  tusks  so  white  —  was  never  man  so  bold 
Of  those  who  faced  him  there,  who  dare  the  issue  try; 
They  eye  him  from  afar,  but  none  will  venture  nigh. 

Right  wroth, 

Many  he  smote  before, 

Thus  all  might  well  be  loath 

To  face  the  tusks  that  tore  — 

So  mad  was  he,  i-troth. 

xvni 

Then  cometh  swift  the  lord,  spurring  his  goodly  steed, 
See'th  the  boar  at  bay,  of  his  men  taketh  heed; 
He  lighteth  from  his  horse,  leaves  it  with  hanging  rein. 
Draws  out  his  blade  so  bright,  and  strideth  forth  amain. 
Fast  does  he  ford  the  stream,  the  boar  bides  on  the  strand, 
'Ware  of  the  gallant  wight,  with  weapon  fast  in  hand; 
His  bristles  rise  amain,  grim  were  his  snarls  withal, 
The  folk  were  sore  afraid,  lest  harm  their  lord  befall. 
The  swine,  with  spring  so  swift,  upon  the  hero  fell. 
That  boar  and  baron  bold  none  might  asunder  tell. 
There,  in  the  water  deep,  the  boar,  he  had  the  worst, 
For  the  man  marked  him  well,  e'en  as  they  met  at  first, 

[  67  ] 


His  sharp  blade  In  the  slot  he  set,  e'en  to  the  heft, 
And,  driving  hard  and  true,  the  heart  asunder  cleft. 
Snarling,  he  yields  his  hold,  the  stream  him  hence  hath  reft. 

Forthright, 
The  hounds,  with  fierce  onslaught 
Fall  to,  the  boar  they  bite. 
Swift  to  the  shore  he's  brought, 
And  dogs  to  death  him  dight. 

XIX 

Forthwith  from  many  a  horn  a  joyful  blast  they  blow, 
Huntsmen  together  vie,  high  rings  the  loud  'Hallo  1' 
The  brachets  bay  their  best,  e'en  at  their  masters'  will, 
Who  in  that  fearsome  chace  had  proved  their  hunters'  skill. 
And  then  a  wight  so  wise  in  woodcraft,  fit  and  fair, 
The  quarry  to  unlace  hath  set  him  straightway  there. 
He  heweth  off  the  head,  and  setteth  it  on  high, 
With  skill  he  rendeth  down  the  backbone,  presently, 
Then,  bringing  forth  the  bowels,  roasts  them  on  embers  red, 
And,  to  reward  his  hounds,  doth  blend  them  with  their  bread. 
He  strippeth  off  the  brawn,  e'en  as  in  shields  it  were. 
The  hastlets  hath  he  ta'en,  and  drawn  them  forth  with  care. 
The  halves  he  taketh  now,  and  binds  them  as  a  whole. 
With  withy  stiff  and  stout,  made  fast  unto  a  pole. 
And  with  that  self-same  swine  homeward  they  fare  thro'  land; 
The  boar's  head  do  they  bear  before  their  lord,  on  brand, 
Who  slew  him  in  the  ford,  by  force  of  his  right  hand 

[68  ] 


so  strong  — 
Till  he  might  see  Gawain 
In  hall,  he  deemed  it  long, 
His  guest  he  was  full  fain 
To  pay,  nor  do  him  wrong. 


XX 

The  lord,  with  merry  jest,  and  laugh  of  gladsome  glee 
Soon  as  he  saw  Gawain,  spake  words  both  fair  and  free, 
(The  ladies  too  he  bade,  e'en  with  the  household  all  — ) 
The  boar's  shields  doth  he  show,  and  tells  his  tale  withal, 
How  broad  he  was,  how  long,  how  savage  in  his  mood. 
That  grisly  swine  —  and  how  they  chased  him  thro'  the  wood, 
Sir  Gawain  doth  commend  his  deeds,  in  comely  wise, 
Well  hath  he  proved  himself,  to  win  so  fair  a  prize  — 
'For  such  a  brawny  beast,  (so  spake  that  baron  bold) 
And  such  shields  of  a  swine,  mine  eyes  did  ne'er  behold.' 
They  handle  the  huge  head,  the  knight  doth  praise  it  well, 
And  loud  and  fair  his  speech,  his  host  his  mind  may  tell. 
'Gawain,'  quoth  the  good  man,  'this  gain  is  sure  your  own. 
By  forward  fair  and  fast,  e'en  as  before  was  shown.' 
'Yea,'  quoth  the  knight,  "t  is  true,  and  here  too,  by  my  troth, 
I  give  ye  all  my  gain,  nor  thereto  am  I  loth.' 
With  that  he  clasped  his  host,  and  doth  him  kindly  kiss. 
And  so  a  second  time  he  did  the  same,  I  wis. 
'Now  are  we,'  quoth  Gawain,  'quit  in  this  eventide 
Of  forwards  all  we  made  since  I  with  ye  abide 

[  69  ] 


in  hall.' 
The  lord  quoth:  'By  Saint  Giles, 
I  hold  ye  best  withal, 
Rich  are  ye  in  short,  while 
Your  profits  be  not  small!' 


XXI 

The  tables  then  they  bring,  on  trestles  set  aloft, 
And  cover  them  as  meet,  with  cloths  both  fair  and  soft, 
Clear  falleth  on  the  walls,  of  waxen  torch,  the  light; 
Sithen,  to  service  fair  they  set  them,  many  a  knight. 
Then  clamour  glad,  and  glee,  arose  within  the  hall. 
Where  flares  the  flame  on  floor  they  make  much  mirth  withal, 
They  sing,  e'en  as  they  sup,  and  after,  knights  so  true. 
Fair  songs  of  Christmas-tide,  and  many  a  carol  new, 
With  every  kind  of  mirth  that  man  to  tell  were  fain  — 
And  by  that  lady's  side  he  sat,  the  good  Gawain, 
Such  semblance  fair  she  made,  in  seemly  v/ise  and  meet, 
To  please  the  gentle  knight,  with  stolen  glances  sweet. 
Whereat  he  marvelled  much,  and  chid  himself  amain, 
Yet,  for  his  courtesy,  would  answer  not  again, 
Dealing  in  dainty  wise,  till  fate  the  die  was  fain 

to  cast. 

Thus  made  they  mirth  in  hall. 

Long  as  their  will  did  last, 

Then,  when  the  lord  did  call. 

To  chimney-corner  passed. 
[   70  ] 


XXII 

They  drank,  and  dallied,  there,  and  deemed  't  were  well  to 

hold 
Their  forward  fast  and  fair  till  New  Year's  Eve  were  told, 
But   Gawain    prayed   his    leave,   with    morrow's    morn    to 

ride. 
Since  it  were  nigh  the  term  his  challenge  to  abide. 
The  lord  withheld  his  leave,  praying  him  strait  to  stay: 
*As  I  be  faithful  knight,  I  pledge  my  troth  alway 
Thou  shalt  thy  tryst  fulfil,  there  at  the  Chapel  Green, 
Before   the    New   Year's    Morn    hath   waxed    to   prime,    I 

ween; 
So  lie,  and  rest  thee  soft,  and  take  thine  ease  at  will, 
And  I  shall  hunt  the  holts,  and  keep  our  forward  still, 
To  change  my  gain  with  thee,  all  that  I  homeward  bear  — 
Twice  have  I  tested  thee,  and  found  thee  true  and  fair, 
A  third  time  will  we  try  our  luck,  at  dawn  of  day; 
Now  think  ye  upon  joy,  be  merry  while  ye  may. 
For  men  may  laugh  at  loss,  if  so  their  will  alway,' 
Gawain  doth  grant  the  grace,  and  saith,  he  will  abide; 
Blithely  they  brought  him  drink,  and  then  to  bed  they  hied 

with  light  — 

Sir  Gawain  lies  and  sleeps 

Soft,  thro'  the  stilly  night. 

The  lord  his  cov'nant  keeps, 

For  chase  is  early  dight. 

[  71   ] 


XXIII 

A  morsel  after  mass,  he  taketh  with  his  men, 
Merry  the  morning  tide  —  his  mount  he  prayeth  then, 
They  who,  a-horse,  should  hold  him  company  that  day 
A-saddle  all,  their  steeds  before  the  hall-gate  stay. 
Full  fair  it  was  a-field,  the  frost  yet  fast  doth  cling, 
Ruddy,  and  red,  the  sun  its  rising  beams  doth  fling. 
And  clear,  and  cloudless  all,  appears  the  welkin  wide  — 
The  huntsmen  scatter  them  hard  by  a  woodland  side, 
The  rocks,  they  rang  again  before  the  horn's  loud  blast, 
Some  fell  upon  a  track,  where  late  a  fox  had  passed  — 
(The  trail  may  oft  betray,  tho'  fox  no  feint  doth  lack  — ) 
A  hound  hath  found  the  scent,  the  hunt  is  on  his  track. 
The  dogs,  they  follow  fast,  and  thick  the  hue  and  cry. 
They  run  in  rabble  rout  on  the  trail  speedily 
The  fox,  he  fled  apace,  the  hounds  their  prey  have  seen, 
And,  once  within  their  sight,  they  follow  fast  and  keen. 
Loudly  they  threaten  there,  with  cry  and  clamour  fierce  — 
The  fox,  with  twist  and  turn,  the  undergrowth  doth  pierce, 
Winding,  and  hearkening  oft,  low  thro'  the  hedge  doth  creep. 
Then,  by  a  little  ditch,  doth  o'er  a  spinney  leap. 
So,  still,  he  stealeth  forth,  by  rough  and  rugged  way 
Thinking  to  clear  the  wood,  and  cheat  the  hounds  that  day; 
Then,  ere  he  wist,  I  trow,  to  hunters'  tryst  he  came 
Threatened  he  was  threefold,  by  hounds  as  at  that  same: 

from  fray 
He  starteth  swift  aside, 
[  72  ] 


And  fled,  as  he  were  fey; 
Fain  was  he  at  that  tide 
To  seek  the  woodland  way. 

XXIV 

'Twas  lively  then  to  list  the  hounds,  as  loud  they  cry," 
When  all  the  pack  had  met,  and  mingled,  speedily. 
Such  wrath,  methinks,  adown  upon  his  head  they  call 
As  all  the  climbing  cliffs  had  clashed  unto  their  fall. 
Hunters,  with  loud  'Halloo,'  sight  of  their  prey  do  hail, 
Loudly  they  chide  the  fox,  nor  scolding  speech  doth  fail, 
Threaten  him  once  and  oft,  and  'thief  they  call  him  there  — 
The  hounds  are  on  his  trail,  tarry  he  may  not  dare, 
Oft  would  they  him  out-run,  and  head  him  ere  he  passed, 
Double  again  he  must  —  wily  the  fox,  and  fast, 
Thus,  by  his  skill  he  led  master  and  huntsmen  bold 
O'er  hill,  o'er  dale,  by  mount,  by  woodland,  and  by  wold; 
While  the  good  knight  at  home  doth  soundly  sleep,  I  ween, 
All  comely  curtained  round,  on  morning  cold  and  keen. 
But  Love  the  lady  fair  had  suffered  not  to  sleep, 
That  purpose  to  impair  which  she  in  heart  doth  keep. 
Quickly  she  rose  her  up,  and  thither  took  her  way 
In  mantle  meet  enwrapped,  which  swept  the  ground  alway. 
Within,  't  was  finely  furred,  and  bordered  with  the  same, 
No  gold  doth  bind  her  head  but  precious  stones,  aflame, 
Within  her  tresses  wound,  by  twenties  cluster  fair; 
Her  face,  and  .eke  her  throat,  the  mantle  leaveth  bare, 

[  73  ] 


Bare  is  her  snow-white  breast,  and  bare  her  back  to  sight; 
Passing  the  chamber  door,  she  shuts  it  close  and  tight  — 
Setting  the  window  wide,  she  calls  her  knight  alway, 
And,  laughing,  chideth  him  in  merry  words  and  gay,  \ 

With  cheer, 
*  Ah,  man!  Why  dost  thou  sleep? 
The  morn  dawns  fair  and  clear,* 
Gawain,  in  slumber  deep, 
Dreaming,  her  voice  did  hear. 

XXV 

Drowsing,  he  dreamed,  the  knight,  a  dream  with  travail 

fraught, 
As  men,  in  morning  hours,  are  plagued  with  troubled  thought; 
How  destiny,  next  morn,  his  weird  should  duly  dight, 
When,  at  the  Chapel  Green,  he  needs  must  meet  that  knight, 
And  there  his  buffet  bide,  nor  make  there  for  debate  — 
But,  came  that  comely  dame,  his  wits  he  summoned  straight, 
Aroused  him  from  his  sleep,  and  spake  full  speedily; 
That  lady  drew  anigh,  sweet  was  her  smile  to  see  — 
She  bent  her  o'er  his  face,  and  kissed  him,  fair  and  free. 
A  greeting  fit  he  gave,  in  words  of  gladsome  cheer. 
So  glorious  her  guise,  clad  in  such  goodly  gear. 
Her  features  faultless  all,  her  colour  fair  and  fine, 
The  springs  of  joy  well  free,  warming  his  heart  like  wine; 
Their  seemly  smiles  full  swift  were  smitten  into  mirth. 
Bliss,  and  good  fellowship,  betwixt  the  twain  to  birth 

[   74] 


did  win  — 
Their  words  were  fair  and  good, 
Weal  reigned  those  walls  within, 
Yet  peril  'twixt  them  stood, 
Nor  might  she  nearer  win. 


XXVI 

She  pressed  that  prince  of  price  so  close,  I  trow,  that  day, 
Leaning  so  nigh  her  point,  that  need  upon  him  lay 
To  take  her  proffered  love,  or  roughly  say  her  nay  — 
For  courtesy  his  care,  lest  he  be  craven  knight. 
And  more,  lest  mischief  fall,  in  that  he  sin  outright, 
And  thus  betray  his  host,  the  lord  of  house  and  hall,  — 
*God  shield  me,'  quoth  the  knight,  'that  e'er  such  chance 

befall!' 
Forthwith,  with  laughter  light,  he  strove  to  lay  aside 
All  speech  of  special  grace  her  lips  might  speak  that  tide; 
Then  quoth  she  to  the  knight:  'I  hold  ye  worthy  blame 
An  ye  love  not  that  life  which  here  your  love  doth  claim. 
And  lieth  wounded  here,  above  all  else  on  earth. 
Save  ye  a  true  love  have  ye  hold  of  better  worth. 
And  to  that  lady  fair  your  faith  so  fast  ye  hold, 
Ye  may  not  list  my  words  —  Save  ye  that  tale  have  told 
That  will  I  not  believe  —  I  pray  ye,  of  a  sooth. 
For  all  the  love  on  life,  hide  not  from  me  the  truth 

for  guile?' 
The  knight  quoth:  'By  Saint  John, 
[75  ] 


^it  ^(Xmain  aYii>  i^t  (Stem  (Knig^f 

(And  gaily  did  he  smile) 
Of  true  love  have  I  none, 
Nor  will  I,  for  a  while!' 

XXVII 

'That  word,'  the  lady  quoth,  'methinks  hath  grieved  me  more. 
Yet  I  my  answer  take,  altho'  I  sorrow  sore; 
But  kiss  me  kindly  now,  ere  yet  I  go  my  way 
My  fate  to  mourn  on  mould,  as  she  who  loveth  may.' 
Sighing,  she  swayed  adown,  and  kissed  the  knight  so  good, 
Then  raised  her  up  again,  and  spake  e'en  as  she  stood: 
*At  this  our  parting,  dear,  grant  me  this  grace  for  love, 
Give  me  somewhat  as  gift,  if  it  be  but  thy  glove, 
That  I  may  think  on  thee,  and  so  my  grief  may  still  — ' 
*Now,  I  wis,'  quoth  the  knight,  '  I  would  I  had  at  will, 
The  thing  I  hold  on  earth  most  precious,  it  were  thine, 
Ye  have  deserved,  I  trow,  by  friendship  fair  and  fine, 
A  guerdon  goodlier  far  than  I  might  e'er  bestow! 
But  here,  by  gift  of  love,  small  profit  might  ye  know, 
Nor  were  ye  honoured  now,  had  ye  at  this  time  aught 
Or  glove,  or  other  gift,  from  Gawain,  as  ye  sought; 
Here  thro'  the  land  I  fare  on  errand  strange  and  dread. 
No  men  have  I  with  mails,  or  trinkets,  at  this  stead. 
That  much  misliketh  me,  lady,  for  this  thy  sake. 
Yet,  be  't  for  good  or  ill,  each  man  his  chance  must  take 

aright  — ' 
*Thou  knight  of  honour,  nay' 
[76] 


(So  spake  the  lady  bright), 
*Tho'  no  gift  be  my  pay 
Somewhat  I  '11  give  my  knight.' 


XXVIII 

She  proflFered  him  a  ring,  of  red  gold  fashioned  fair, 
A  sparkling  stone,  I  trow,  aloft  the  setting  bare. 
Its  gleam,  in  sooth,  outshone  the  sunlight's  ruddy  ray, 
I  wot  well  that  its  worth  no  man  might  lightly  pay. 
Gawain  the  ring  refused,  and  readily  he  spake: 
'No  gift,  my  lady  gay,  of  goodwill  will  I  take. 
Since  I  have  naught  to  give  naught  will  I  take  of  thee  — * 
Straitly  she  prayed,  Gawain  refused  her  steadfastly, 
Sware  swiftly  on  his  sooth,  that  ring  he  would  not  take  — 
The  lady,  sorely  grieved,  in  this  wise  further  spake  : 
*An  ye  refuse  my  ring,  methinks,  the  cause  shall  be 
Ye  deem  ye  were  too  much  beholden  unto  me, 
I'll  here  my  girdle  give  as  lesser  gift  this  tide  — ' 
She  loosed  a  silken  lace  that  hung  low  at  her  side, 
Upon  her  kirtle  knit,  beneath  her  mantle's  fold, 
With  green  silk  was  it  gay,  entwined  with  threads  of  gold, 
Braided  in  cunning  wise,  by  skilful  fingers  wrought; 
She  proffered  it  the  knight,  and  blithely  him  besought 
To  take  this  as  her  gift,  tho'  worthless  all  it  were  — 
But  still  he  said  her  nay,  and,  ever  steadfast,  sware 
He  would  nor  gift  nor  gold,  ere  God  would  give  him  grace 
Well  to  achieve  the  chance  t'wards  which  he  set  his  face  — 

[  77  ] 


^ix  (Bai^ain  anb  i^t  (Stem  (Kntg^f 

'Therefore,  I  pray  ye  now,  be  not  displeased  at  this, 
But  let  the  matter  be,  I  may  not  grant,  I  wis, 

thy  prayer  — 

Much  do  I  owe  to  thee 

For  this,  thy  gentle  care, 

By  heat,  by  cold,  I'll  be 

Thy  servant  everywhere.' 

XXIX 

*Do  ye  refuse  this  silk,'  so  quoth  the  gentle  dame, 
*For  its  simplicity?   I  grant  ye  of  that  same; 
Lo!  light  it  is  to  hold,  and  less  its  cost,  I  ween. 
Yet  who  the  virtue  knew  that  knit  therein  hath  been. 
Would  peradventure  prize  it  higher  for  its  grace  — 
Whoso  shall  gird  himself  with  this  same  woven  lace 
The  while  't  is  knotted  well  around  him,  't  Is  a  charm. 
And  no  man  upon  mould  may  wreak  him  hurt  or  harm, 
And  ne'er  may  he  be  slain  by  magic,  or  by  spell  — ' 
Sir  Gawain,  in  his  heart,  that  hour  bethought  him  well. 
That  lace  a  jewel  were  against  the  jeopardy 
Which,  at  the  Chapel  Green,  did  wait  him  presently. 
Might  he  escape  un-slain,  the  sleight  he  deemed  were  good; 
Thus  suffered  he  her  prayer,  and  shewed  a  gentler  mood. 
She  pressed  on  him  her  gift,  and  urged  him  loud  and  still, 
He  granted  her  the  grace,  she  gave  it  of  good  will. 
And,  for  her  sake,  besought  he  tell  the  matter  ne'er. 
But  hide  it  from  her  lord,  he  sware  it  fast  and  fair, 

[78] 


That  no  man,  save  them  twain,  should  this,  their  secret,  share 

for  naught  — 
He  thanked  her  oft,  I  wis, 
Joyful  of  heart  and  thought. 
Her  true  knight  did  she  kiss 
Thrice,  ere  she  leave  besought. 


XXX 

Then,  laughing,  saith,  'Farewell,'  and  from  the  room  doth  go 
For  more  mirth  of  that  man,  I  wot,  she  may  not  know; 
When  she  hath  gone,  Gawain  doth  from  his  couch  arise, 
And  swiftly  robes  himself  in  rich  and  royal  wise, 
Taketh  the  love-lace  green,  his  lady's  gift  so  fair. 
That  wound  around  his  waist  he  doth  well  hidden  bear. ' 
Then  to  the  chapel,  swift,  the  knight  doth  take  his  way, 
And,  seeking  out  a  priest,  he  privily  doth  pray 
He  may  his  life  unfold,  that  he  may  better  know 
How  his  soul  may  be  saved,  when  he  from  hence  shall  go. 
Shrived  was  he  surely  there  —  he  shewed  his  misdeeds  all. 
Or  less  they  be  or  more,  and  did  for  mercy  call, 
Then,  from  the  listening  priest,  doth  absolution  pray  — 
Assoiled  well  he  was,  and  set  as  clean  alway 
As  if  the  morrow's  morn  the  day  of  doom  should  be. 
Sithen  he  makes  good  cheer  amid  the  ladies  free. 
With  comely  carols  there,  all  joys  men  may  devise, 
(As  ne'er  before  that  day,  methinks,  had  been  his  wise) 

with  bliss  — 

[  79  1 


That  all  men  marvelled  there 
And  said  of  him,  I  wis, 
Such  semblance  gay  he  ware 
As  none  had  seen  ere  this. 


XXXI 

Now  let  him  linger  there  where  love  his  share  shall  be  — 
The  lord  is  yet  afield,  leading  his  folk  so  free, 
Now  hath  he  slain  the  fox,  that  he  hath  chased  all  day  — 
As  he  thro'  spinney  sped,  eager  to  spy  his  prey, 
There,  where  he  heard  the  hounds  that  close  on  his  track  lay, 
Lo!  Reynard,  running  low,  thro'  tangled  grove  he  steals, 
And  all  the  yelping  pack  of  hounds  are  at  his  heels. 
The  knight,  he  saw  the  beast,  and  would  his  coming  wait, 
Drew  forth  his  brand  so  bright,  and  flung  it  swift  and  straight, 
The  fox,  the  sharp  sword  shunned,  to  swerve  aside  was  fain, 
A  hound  doth  hold  him  fast  ere  he  might  turn  again. 
Beneath  the  horse's  feet  the  pack  upon  him  fell. 
Worried  their  wily  prey  with  many  a  yap  and  yell, 
The  lord,  he  lights  adown,  the  fox  he  seizes  there. 
Swiftly  he  snatches  him  from  out  the  jaws  that  tear. 
Holding  him  high  o'er  head,  he  halloos  loud  and  gay. 
While  many  a  gallant  hound  doth  round  him  spring  and  bay. 
Thither  the  huntsmen  hie,  their  horns  sound  merrily. 
Answering  each  to  each,  till  all  their  master  see. 
That  noble  company,  they  gather  fair  and  fast, 
All  who  the  bugle  bare  together  blew  a  blast, 

[  80] 


^ix  ^a)x>ain  avib  (^  (Stem  (Kntg^f 

While  they  who  had  no  horn,  they  halloo'd  loud  and  clear; 
It  was  the  merriest  meet  that  ever  man  might  hear 
The  clamour  that  was  raised  o'er  Reynard's  doom  so  drear  — 

Then,  gay, 
The  hounds  they  there  reward, 
Rubbing  their  heads  that  day  — 
Now  have  they  ta'en  Reynard 
And  stript  his  pelt  away. 

XXXII 

And  then  they  hied  them  home,  for  night-fall  was  full  nigh, 

Blowing  a  shattering  blast  on  horn,  with  notes  so  high. 

The  lord  at  last  alights  before  his  home  so  dear, 

A  fire  he  finds  on  floor  —  his  guest,  he  sitteth  near, 

Gawain  the  good,  who  glad  and  joyous  was  withal, 

For,  mid  the  ladies  fair,  bliss  to  his  lot  did  fall. 

He  ware  a  robe  of  blue,  e'en  to  the  earth  it  fell. 

His  surcoat,  softly  furred,  became  him  passing  well; 

Of  self-same  stuff,  the  hood  upon  his  shoulders  lay, 

Bordered  and  bound  the  twain  with  fur  alike  that  day. 

His  host  he  met  forthwith,  there,  in  the  midmost  hall, 

A  goodly  greeting  gave,  and  joyful  spake  withal; 

'Now  shall  I  first  fulfil  thy  forward,  mine  and  thine. 

Which  we  together  sware  whenas  ye  spared  no  wine.' 

With   that  he   clasped   the    knight,  and    gave   him    kisses 

three. 
Setting  them  on  his  lips  with  all  solemnity. 

[  81   ] 


*By  Christ,'  then  quoth  the  host;  'good  fortune  your's  hath 

been, 
If  for  such  chance  ye  gave  a  fair  exchange,  I  ween!' 
'Thereof  small  need  to  speak  — '  the  hero  straightway  said,' 
'Since  light  the  cost,  and  swift,  methinks,  the  price  I  paid.' 
*By  Mary,'  quoth  his  host,  'in  that  am  I  behind, 
I  hunted  all  this  day,  and  yet  I  naught  might  find 
Save  this  foul  fox's  pelt,  fiend  take  the  thing  alway, 
Methinks  for  precious  gifts  the  same  were  sorry  pay, 
And  ye  have  rendered  me  three  kisses  here  to-day 

right  good  — ' 
'Enough,'  quoth  Sir  Gawain, 
'  I  thank  ye,  by  the  Rood.' 
Then  how  the  fox  was  slain 
He  told  him  as  they  stood. 

XXXIII 

Of  mirth,  of  minstrelsy,  of  meat,  they  take  their  fill, 
And  make  them  merry  there,  as  men  may  do  at  will, 
With  ladies'  laughter  light,  and  many  a  merry  jest, 
So  joyful  were  the  twain,  the  host,  and  his  good  guest. 
E'en  as  they  drunken  were,  or  e'en  had  waxen  fey  — 
The  lord,  and  e'en  his  men  made  many  a  jest  so  gay, 
Until  at  length  the  time  for  severance  was  o'er  past. 
Each  baron  to  his  bed  betook  him  at  the  last. 
Then  first.  Sir  Gawain  good,  leave  of  his  host  would  pray 
Thanking  him  fair  and  free,  and  thus  he  spake  alway: 

[  82  ] 


^it  (Balaam  anb  (^t  ^xtm  (^nic^U 

*For  this  fair  sojourning  your  honour  be  increased, 

The  High  King  grant  ye  this,  I  pray,  at  this  high  feast. 

Your  servant  here  am  I,  an  so  your  will  may  be  — 

With  morn  I  needs  must  fare,  e'en  as  I  told  to  ye, 

A  guide  ye  promised  sure,  to  shew  to  me  the  way 

To  that  same  Chapel  Green,  where,  on  the  New  Year's  Day 

With  God's  will   shall   be   dealt   my  doom,   and  this,   my 

weird  — ' 
*In  good  faith,'  quoth  the  host,  '  be  not  for  that  afeard, 
Of  good  will  shall  I  give  all  that  to  ye  I  hight  — ' 
A  servant  then  he  called,  to  shew  the  way  aright 
Fair  o'er  the  downs,  that  so  Gawain  should  have  no  need 
To  wend  by  words,  but  through  the  copse,  might  make 
with  speed 

his  way  — 

For  gracious  fare,  Gawain, 

With  gracious  words  would  pay, 

And  from  the  ladies  twain 

His  leave  was  loth  to  pray. 

XXXIV 

Careful  he  kissed  the  twain,  and  spake  them  both  full  fair. 
Well  may  they  thrive  for  thanks  he  presseth  on  them  there. 
And  in  the  selfsame  wise  those  ladies  make  reply. 
Commending  him  to  Christ,  with  many  a  piteous  sigh. 
Then  from  the  household  all,  in  courteous  wise  he  'Id  part, 
And  each  man  that  he  met,  he  thanked  him  from  his  heart 

[   83   ] 


For  service,  solace  fair,  and  for  the  pains  they  knew 
In  that  they  busied  them  to  do  him  service  true. 
And  all  to  say  '  Farewell,'  I  trow,  such  sorrow  felt 
As  if  in  worthy  wise  long  years  with  him  they  'd  dwelt.  ^ 
With  torches  burning  bright,  they  to  his  chamber  led, 
And,  that  he  well  might  rest,  blithely  brought  him  to  bed. 
But  that  he  soundly  slept,  in  sooth,  I  dare  not  say. 
Matter  enow  had  he,  that  came  with  dawning  day 

for  thought  — 
Now  let  him  lie  there  still. 
He  nigheth  what  he  sought  — 
If  hearken  me  ye  will 
I  '11  tell  ye  how  they  wrought. 


BOOK  IV 
I 

Now  nigheth  the  New  Year,  past  are  the  hours  of  night. 
And,  e'en  as  God  doth  will,  darkness  must  yield  to  light. 
But  weather  wild  awakes  e'en  with  the  New  Year's  birth, 
Aloft,  the  driving  clouds  cast  the  keen  cold  to  earth, 
Enow  of  North  therein  the  naked  wight  to  slay  — 
The  snow,  it  smartly  drave  across  the  fells  that  day, 
With  whistling  blast  the  wind  doth  whirl  it  from  on  high, 
Till,  in  each  dale,  the  drifts  both  wide  and  deep  they  lie. 
The  knight,  he  hearkened  well,  as  in  his  bed  he  lay, 

[  84  ] 


But,  tho'  his  eyes  were  shut,  little  he  slept  alway. 
By  every  cock  that  crew,  the  hour  right  well  he  knew, 
And  lightly  gat  him  up,  ere  yet  to  dawn  it  drew. 
For  in  the  chamber  burned  a  lamp  that  gave  him  light  — 
His  chamberlain  he  called,  who  answered  him  forthright, 
Bade  him  his  byrnie  bring,  and  saddle  his  good  steed; 
The  other  gat  him  up,  and  swiftly  fetched  his  weed. 
Then  was  Sir  Gawain  clad  in  fitting  wise,  and  fair. 
First,  in  his  clothes  he  's  wrapt,  the  cold  from  him  to  'ware, 
Then  he  his  harness  doffs,  that  well  was  kept,  I  ween. 
The  plates,  the  coat  of  mail,  alike  are  polished  clean. 
And  of  his  byrnie  rich,  the  rings  from  rust  are  freed, 
'T  was  fresh  as  at  the  first  —  Of  thanks,  he  fain  full  meed 

would  bring  — 

He  did  on  him  each  piece, 

They  lacked  no  burnishing, 

Gayest  from  here  to  Greece, 

His  steed  he  bade  them  bring. 

n 

The  while  in  richest  weed  he  doth  himself  array. 
His  coat,  with  cognizance  embroidered  clear  and  gay. 
On  velvet,  rich  adorned,  with  stones  of  virtue  high 
Well  wrought  and  bound,  the  seams  embroidered  cunningly, 
And  all,  with  fairest  skins,  within  well  furred  and  lined  — 
The  lace,  the  lady's  gift,  he  doth  not  leave  behind, 
Gawain  forgat  it  not,  since  't  was  for  his  own  good  — 

[  85  1 


He  belted  fast  his  brand  around  him  as  he  stood, 
Then  twined  the  token  twice,  and  drew  it  round  him  tight, 
Well  did  that  silken  cord  enswathe  the  goodly  knight; 
The  girdle  of  green  silk,  in  sooth,  beseemed  him  well. 
On  cloth  of  royal  red,  its  hues,  they  richly  tell. 
But  for  that  girdle's  grace  he  ware  it  not,  the  knight. 
Nor  for  the  pendants'  pride,  tho'  polished  they,  and  bright. 
Nor  for  the  glittering  gold,  whose  gleam  the  ends  doth  light  — 
But  't  was  to  save  himself,  when  he  must  shortly  stand 
And  bide  without  debate,  from  knife  or  glittering  brand 

a  blow  — 

Now,  armed,  the  goodly  knight 

Forth  from  the  hall  doth  go. 

On  all  who  there  be  dight 

His  thanks  he  would  bestow. 

HI 

Ready  was  Gringalet,  his  charger  great  and  tall, 
Stabled  the  steed  had  been  in  fitting  wise  withal. 
Eager  to  start,  the  horse  delay  might  little  brook  — 
The  knight,  he  drew  anear,  and  on  his  coat  did  look, 
Spake  softly  to  himself,  and  by  his  sooth  he  sware, 
'The  men  within  this  moat  for  honour  fitly  care, 
May  they,  with  their  good  lord,  all  joy  henceforward  share. 
And  may  love  be  her  meed  thro'  life,  that  fair  ladie, 
Who  thus  a  passing  guest  cherish  for  charitie. 
And  honour  hold  in  hand  —  may  He  repay  withal 

[  86  ] 


Who  rules  on  high,  the  folk  within  this  goodly  hall, 
If  I  my  life  on  land  might  somewhat  longer  lead 
Then  readily  reward  I  'Id  give,  as  fits  your  meed  — ' 
He  to  the  stirrup  steps,  and  doth  his  steed  bestride, 
Upon  his  shoulder  lays  his  shield  as  fit,  that  tide, 
Then  spurreth  Gringalet,  anon,  with  spurs  of  gold, 
The  steed  no  longer  stands,  but  on  the  stones  so  cold 

doth  dance  — 

Mounted,  his  squire  doth  bear 

Aloft,  his  spear  and  lance,  — 
*  Christ  keep  this  castle  fair 

And  give  it  aye  good  chance.' 

IV 

They  let  the  bridge  adown,  the  gateway,  broad  and  wide, 
Unbar,  and  open  set  the  door  on  either  side; 
The  knight,  he  crossed  himself,  and  passed  the  castle  bound, 
Praising  the  porter  good,  who,  kneeling  low  on  ground. 
Gave   him   Good-day,    and   prayed   that   God    might   save 

Gawain  — 
So  doth  he  wend  his  way,  with  one  wight  in  his  train, 
To  lead  him  to  that  place  of  peril  stern  and  grim. 
Where  he  must  pay  the  price,  where  bale  awaiteth  him. 
By  hedgerow  winds  their  way,  where  boughs  are  stripped  and 

bare. 
Anon,  they  climb  the  cliffs,  where  cold  and  chill  the  air. 
The  heaven  its  showers  up-held,  but  here  on  earth  't  was  ill, 

[  87  ] 


In  mist  was  merged  the  moor,  mist  clung  to  every  hill, 
Each  ware  a  cap  of  cloud,  and  cloak  of  mist  so  dank; 
Bubbling,  the  brooks  they  brake  in  foam  upon  the  bank, 
Splashed  sheer  upon  the  shores,  there,  where  they  shelved 

adown, 
Yea,  lone  and  drear  the  way,  beneath  the  dark  wood's  frown 
Until  the  rising  sun  with  gold  the  hillcrest  crown 

that  tide  — 

They  climbed  a  hill  full  high 

White  snow  lay  on  its  side, 

The  guide,  who  rode  hard  by, 

Now  bade  him  to  abide. 

V 

*Now  lord,  as  I  was  pledged,  I  have  ye  hither  led. 
Now  are  ye  nigh  the  place  of  note,  your  quest  Is  sped 
That  ye  have  straitly  sought,  and  asked  for  specially, 
But  now  I  know  ye  well,  in  sooth,  I  'Id  say  to  ye  — 
(Since  ye  be  such  a  lord  that  men  full  well  may  love,) 
Would  ye  but  work  my  will  your  welfare  it  might  prove  — 
The  place  whereto  ye  pass  right  perilous  men  hold, 
A  wight  doth  ward  that  waste,  the  worst  is  he  on  mould, 
For  stiff  is  he,  and  stern,  and  over  keen  to  strike, 
For  height  on  middle-earth  no  man  hath  seen  his  like; 
Bigger  of  body  he,  than  any  four  who  won 
A  place  in  Arthur's  house,  yea,  e'en  were  Hector  one! 
And  this  his  custom  cursed  —  here  at  the  Chapel  Green 

[   88  ] 


There  passeth  never  man,  tho'  proud  in  arms,  I  ween. 
But  he  doth  do  to  death  by  dint  of  deadly  blow, 
For  all  discourteous  he,  nor  mercy  doth  he  know. 
Chaplain  be  he,  or  churl,  who  by  that  chapel  rides, 
Mass  priest,  or  hooded  monk,  or  any  man  beside, 
Is  he  as  fain  to  slay  as  he  himself  to  live  — 
So  soothly  as  ye  sit  on  steed,  this  rede  I  give: 
Go  ye  there,  with  his  will,  ye  come  not  hence  alive  — 
Trow  me,  I  speak  the  truth  —  yea,  had  ye  twenty  lives 

to  spend  — 

Long  time  hath  he  dwelt  here, 

His  conquests  know  no  end, 

Against  his  dints  so  drear 

No  shield  may  ye  defend.' 

VI 

'Wherefore,  Sir  Gawain  good,  let  ye  this  man  alone, 
And  for  God's  sake,  I  pray,  from  this  place  get  ye  gone. 
Ride  by  some  other  road,  Christ  speed  ye  on  your  way  — 
I  '11  hie  me  home  again,  but  this  I  '11  do  alway, 
I'll  take  an  oath  by  God,  and  all  the  saints  that  be,  t 
Or  by  such  hallows  all  as  shall  seem  best  to  ye, 
That  I  will  hold  my  peace,  and  never  tell  the  tale 
That  ye  to  face  your  foe  one  time  for  fear  did  fail.' 
'Gramercy,'  quoth  Gawain  (in  sooth  ill-pleased  was  he) 
*A11  good  may  he  receive  who  wisheth  good  to  me. 
That  thou  would 'st  silence  keep,  I  well  believe  of  thee, 

[  89  1 


But,  tried  be  thou,  and  true,  if  I  should  turn  me  here, 
And  this  thy  counsel  take,  and  fly  for  very  fear, 
I  were  a  coward  knight,  excused  I  might  not  be, 
But  at  the  Chapel  Green  I'll  chance  it  verily. 
With  that  same  man  I'll  speak,  e'en  as  shall  please  me  well 
Be  it  for  weal  or  woe,  as  fate  the  lot  may  tell  — 

The  knave 

May  well  be  stern  in  fight, 

Cunning  with  sword  and  stave, 

Yet  God  hath  mickle  might 

His  servant  true  to  save!' 

VII 

*By  Mary,'  quoth  the  squire,  'now  ye  so  much  have  said 
That  this,  your  harm,  henceforth,  to  your  own  count  be  laid; 
Since  ye  will  lose  your  life  I'll  hinder  not,  nor  let, 
Take  ye  your  spear  in  hand,  on  head  the  helmet  set, 
And  ride  adown  this  road,  that  by  yon  rock  doth  wind. 
Till  ye  the  lowest  depth  of  yonder  valley  find; 
A  little  to  the  left,  on  a  lawn,  shall  ye  see, 
Within  that  dreary  dale,  the  chapel,  verily, 
And  him,  that  grisly  giant,  who  shall  its  keeper  be! 
Now  may  God  keep  ye  well.  Sir  Gawain,  noble  knight. 
For  all  the  gold  on  earth,  I  would  not,  an  I  might. 
In  fellowship  v/ith  ye  but  one  foot  further  go  — ' 
With  that  the  squire,  he  turned  his  horse's  head,  and  so 
He  spurred  him  with  his  heel,  and  listed  not  to  spare, 

[  90   ] 


But  sprang  across  the  lawn,  and  left  the  hero  there 

alone  — 
'By  God,'  thus  quoth  Gawain, 
'  I'll  neither  greet  nor  groan, 
To  God's  will  am  I  fain, 
To  Him  my  need  is  known!' 


VIII 

He  spurreth  Gringalet,  and  down  the  path  doth  ride, 
Close  'neath  a  shelving  bank,  a  grove  was  at  his  side; 
He  rides  the  rough  road  through,  right  down  into  the  dale, 
Then  draweth  rein  awhile,  full  wild  he  deemed  that  vale; 
No  sign  of  dwelling-place  he  seeth  anywhere. 
On  either  side  the  banks  rise  steeply,  bleak  and  bare, 
And  rough  and  rugged  rocks,  with  many  a  stony  peak. 
That  shuddering  shadows  cast  —  the  place  was  ill  to  seek. 
Gawain,  he  stayed  his  steed,  and  cast  his  glance  around. 
And  changed  full  oft  his  cheer,  ere  he  that  chapel  found. 
Nor  here  't  was  seen,  nor  there,  right  strange  the  chance  he 

thought; 
But  soon,  upon  a  lawn,  a  lawe  his  eye  hath  caught, 
A  smooth  hill  by  a  bank,  set  close  beside  a  burn, 
Where  by  a  ford,  the  flood,  forking,  aside  doth  turn, 
E'en  as  they  boiled,  within,  bubbling,  the  waters  spring  — 
The  knight,  he  turned  the  rein,  his  horse  to  halt  doth  bring. 
At  the  lawe  lights  adown,  and  to  a  linden  bough 
The  rein,  and  his  good  steed,  he  maketh  fast  enow. 

[  91   ] 


Then  hies  him  to  the  hill,  and,  walking  round  about. 
He  cons  what  it  might  be,  thereof  was  he  in  doubt. 
A  hole  was  at  the  end,  and  one  on  either  side, 
And  all  with  grass  o'er-grown,  in  clumps  its  form  that  hide, 
'T  was  hollow  all  within,  e'en  as  a  cavern  old, 
Or  crevice  of  a  crag  —  nor  might  its  use  be  told 

right  well  — 
'Good  Lord,'  quoth  the  good  knight, 
'  Be  this  the  Green  Chapel? 
The  devil  at  midnight 
Might  here  his  matins  tell!' 

IX 

*I  wis,'  so  quoth  Gawain,  'that  wizardry  be  here, 
'T  were  ill  for  prayer  this  place,  o'er  grown  with  grasses  sere, 
'T  were  fitting,  did  that  wight  who  wraps  himself  in  green 
Do  his  devotions  here  in  devil's  wise,  I  ween! 
By  my  five  wits  I  feel  't  is  the  foul  fiend,  in  truth. 
Who  here  hath  given  me  tryst,  my  life  he  seeks,  forsooth! 
A  chapel  of  mischance,  ill  fortune  may  it  win, 
'T  is  the  most  cursed  kirk  I  e'er  set  foot  within!' 
His  helmet  on  his  head,  his  lance  gripped  fast  in  hand. 
He  nighs  the  rock  wherein  the  dwelling  rough  doth  stand; 
Then,  from  the  hill  on  high,  as  't  were  from  out  a  rock, 
On  bank  beyond  the  brook,  a  noise  his  senses  shock; 
It  clatters  thro'  the  cliffs,  as  they  would  cleave  in  twain, 
As  one  to  sharpen  scythe  on  grinding-stone  were  fain. 

[  92  ] 


Lo!  it  doth  whet  and  whir  as  water  thro'  a  mill, 
Lo !  it  doth  rush  and  ring  —  to  hear  it  was  right  ill ! 
Then, '  By  God,'  quoth  Gawain,  '  I  trow  that  weapon  sheer 
They  sharpen  for  that  knight  who  bade  me  meet  him  here 

this  stound 

Let  God  work  as  He  will, 

No  help  elsewhere  were  found; 

Tho'  life  be  forfeit,  still 

I  blench  not  for  a  sound.' 


X 

With  that  the  goodly  knight,  he  called  with  voice  so  bold, 
*Who  waiteth  in  this  place  a  tryst  with  me  to  hold? 
For  here  is  Gawain  come,  here  hath  he  found  his  way, 
If  any  wight  will  win  aught,  let  him  come  to-day, 
Or  now,  or  never,  so  his  need  be  fitly  sped  — ' 
A  voice  spake  from  the  bank,  on  high,  above  his  head, 
*Stay,  and  I  swift  will  give  that  which  I  promised  thee  — ' 
Awhile  the  clamour  rang,  still  rushing  rapidly. 
The  whetstone  whirled  awhile,  ere  he  his  foe  might  see. 
And  then,  beneath  a  crag,  forth  from  a  cave  he  sprung. 
And,  coming  from  that  hole,  a  weapon  round  him  swung, 
A  Danish  axe,  new  dight,  wherewith  the  blow  to  deal, 
Bound  to  the  handle  fast  was  the  bright  blade  of  steel. 
Four  foot  long,  fitly  filed,  no  less,  that  blade  of  might, 
And  all  was  wrapped  and  bound  with  lace  that  gleamed  full 
bright; 

[  93  1 


E'en  as  before  was  he  in  gear  of  green,  that  knight  — 
Green  was  he  face  and  foot,  his  hair,  his  beard's  full  flow, 
But  this  time  on  the  ground  that  knight  afoot  doth  go, 
Stalking,  he  held  the  axe,  steel  downward,  at  his  side. 
Thus  to  the  water  wins,  and  takes  it  in  his  stride. 
He  wades  not,  with  his  axe  he  leaps  that  water's  flow, 
And  fierce,  and  bold,  bestrides  the  bent,  all  white  with  snow 

that  day  — 

Sir  Gawain  met  the  knight. 

No  greeting  did  he  pay. 

The  other  quoth:  'Aright 

Hast  thou  kept  tryst  to-day  1' 

XI 

*  Gawain,'  quoth  the  Green  Knight,  'now  may  God  give  thee 

grace, 
Welcome  art  thou,  I  wis,  to  this,  my  dwelling-place; 
Thy  travel  hast  thou  timed  e'en  as  true  man  should  do  — 
Thou  know'st  the  forward  fast  we  sware  betwixt  us  two; 
This  day,  a  twelve-month  past,  thy  share  thereof  didst  take. 
And  I,  at  this  New  Year,  should  fitting  answer  make. 
Here  in  this  dale  alone,  I  trow,  we  be  to-day. 
To  deal  as  likes  us  best,  with  none  to  say  us  nay; 
Now  doff  thy  helm  from  head,  thy  payment  forthwith  take, 
And  with  no  more  debate  than  I  with  thee  did  make 
When  thou  whipped  off  my  head,  with  but  one   sweeping 

blow  — ' 

[  94  ] 


*Nay,  by  God,'  quoth  Gawain,  'to  whom  my  life  I  owe, 
Nor  greet  will  I,  nor  groan,  for  grief  that  may  befall, 
Deal,  an  thou  wilt,  the  stroke,  still  will  I  stand,  withal, 
Nor  bandy  words  with  thee,  nor  e'er  for  mercy  call  — ' 

Straight  there 
He  bent  adown  his  head. 
And  shewed  his  neck  all  bare. 
No  sign  he  gave  of  dread, 
But  made  as  free  from  care. 


XII 

Then  swift  the  knight  in  green  made  ready  for  the  fray, 
And  gripped  his  grim  tool  fast,  as  fain  Gawain  to  slay. 
With  all  his  body's  force  the  axe  aloft  he  bare, 
A  mighty  feint  he  made  to  deal  a  death-blow  there, 
Yea,  had  he  driven  adown  in  wise  as  he  made  show 
That  valiant  knight  had  died  beneath  the  deadly  blow. 
But  as  the  gisarme  fell  Gawain,  he  swerved  aside. 
E'en  as,  with  fell  intent,  it  did  toward  him  glide; 
His  shoulders  shrank  before  the  sharply  gleaming  blade. 
The  other,  as  he  flinched,  the  axe  from  falling  stayed  — 
He  doth  reprove  that  prince  in  proud  and  scornful  mood: 
'Thou  art  not  that  Gawain  whom  men  aye  deem  so  good, 
Who  never  waxed  afraid,  by  mountain,  or  by  vale, 
Now,  ere  thou  feelest  hurt,  for  fear  thine  heart  doth  fail  — 
Such  cowardice  in  such  knight  I  never  thought  to  know  — 
I  never  flinched  nor  fled,  when  thou  didst  aim  thy  blow, 

[  95  1 


I  made  no  parleying  there,  within  King  Arthur's  hall, 
My  head  rolled  to  my  feet,  I  shewed  no  fear  withal; 
And  thou,  ere  harm  be  done,  full  sore  afraid  dost  seem  — 
Henceforward,  of  us  twain  the  braver  men  shall  deem 

me  aye  — ' 
'I  shrank  once,'  quoth  Gawain, 
'Henceforth  thy  stroke  I'll  stay, 
Tho'  none  may  set  again 
The  head  that  falls  to-day!' 


xni 

*But  haste  thee,  man,  i'  faith,  thy  task  to  end  to  bring. 
Deal  me  my  destiny,  make  no  more  dallying. 
For  I  will  stand  thy  stroke,  and  start  no  more,  I  trow, 
Till  thine  axe  hitteth  me  —  my  word  be  gage  enow!' 
*Have  at  thee!'  quoth  the  knight,  and  with  his  axe  made  play 
With  wrathful  mien  and  grim,  as  mad  he  were  alway. 
He  struck  a  mighty  blow,  yet  never  wound  he  dealt, 
The  axe,  his  hand  withheld,  ere  Gawain  harm  had  felt. 
The  knight  that  stroke  abode,  nor  flinched,  that  hero  free, 
But  stood  still  as  a  stone,  or  stump  of  ancient  tree 
That  rooted  in  the  ground  with  hundred  roots  hath  been  — 
Right  gaily  then  he  quoth,  the  giant  garbed  in  green, 
'So,  now  thine  heart  is  whole,  the  stroke  I  '11  deal  this  tide, 
Thine  hood,  that  Arthur  gave,  I  prithee  hold  aside, 
And  keep  thy  neck  thus  bent,  that  naught  may  o'er  it  fall  — * 
Gawain  was  greatly  wroth,  and  grimly  spake  withal: 

[  96  ] 


*Why  talk  on  thus,  Sir  Knight?  o'er-Iong  thy  threats  so  bold, 
I  trow  me  in  thine  heart  misgivings  thou  dost  hold!' 
'Forsooth,'  quoth  the  Green  Knight,  'since  fierce  thy  speech 

alway 
I  will  no  longer  let  thine  errand  wait  its  pay 

but  strike  — ' 

He  frowned  with  lip  and  brow. 

Made  feint  as  he  would  strike 

Who  hopes  no  aid,  I  trow, 

May  well  such  pass  mislike. 

XIV 

Lightly  he  lifts  the  axe,  and  lo!  it  falleth  fair. 
The  sharp  blade  somewhat  bit  into  the  neck  so  bare; 
But,  tho'  he  swiftly  struck,  he  hurt  him  no  whit  more 
Save  only  on  that  side  where  thro'  the  skin  it  shore; 
E'en  to  the  flesh,  I  trow,  it  cut,  the  blade  so  good, 
And  o'er  his  shoulders  ran  to  earth  the  crimson  blood. 
Sir  Gawain  saw  his  blood  gleam  red  on  the  white  snow 
And  swift  he  sprang  aside,  more  than  a  spear-length's  throw; 
With  speed  his  helmet  good  upon  his  head  set  fast. 
His  trusty  shield  and  true,  he  o'er  his  shoulders  cast, 
Drew  forth  his  brand  so  bright,  and  fiercely  spake  alway: 
(I  trow  that  in  this  world  he  ne'er  was  half  so  gay 
Since  first,  from  mother's  womb  he  saw  the  light  of  day  — ) 
*Now  man,  withhold  thy  blow,  and  proffer  me  no  more, 
A  stroke  here  from  thy  hand  without  dispute  I  bore, 

I  97  ] 


^ix  (Balaam  artb  (^t  (Brem  (Knig^f 

Would'st  thou  another  give,  that  same  I'll  here  repay, 
Give  thee  as  good  again,  thereto  have  tryst  to-day, 

and  now  — 

But  one  stroke  to  me  falls. 

So  ran  the  oath,  I  trow, 

We  sware  in  Arthur's  halls. 

And  therefore  guard  thee  now!' 

XV 

The  Green  Knight  drew  aback,  and  on  his  axe  did  lean, 
Setting  the  shaft  to  ground,  upon  the  blade  so  keen, 
He  looked  upon  the  knight  awhile,  there,  on  the  land, 
Doughty,  and  void  of  dread,  dauntless  doth  Gawain  stand, 
All  armed  for  strife  —  at  heart  it  pleased  him  mightily, 
Then,  with  voice  loud  and  clear  he  speaketh  merrily. 
Hailing  aloud  the  knight,  gaily  to  him  doth  say: 
'Bold  Sir,  upon  this  bent  be  not  so  stern  to-day. 
For  none,  discourteous,  here  methinks  mishandled  thee,  ■ 
Nor  will,  save  e'en  as  framed  at  court  in  forward  free; 
I  promised  thee  a  stroke,  thou  hast  it  at  this  same. 
With  that  be  thou  content,  I  make  no  further  claim. 
An  such  had  been  my  will,  a  buffet,  verily. 
Rougher  I  might  have  dealt,  and  so  done  worse  to  thee, 
Firstly,  I  menace  made  with  but  a  feigned  blow, 
And  harmed  thee  ne'er  a  whit;  that,  I  would  have  thee  know. 
Was  for  the  forward  fast  we  made  in  that  first  night 
When  thou  didst  swear  me  troth,  and  kept  that  troth  aright, 

[  98  1 


^ix  (Balaam  anb  i^t  &tun  (Kni^^^ 

Thou  gav'st  me  all  thy  gain,  e'en  as  good  knight  and  true  — 
Thus  for  the  morrow's  morn  another  feint  was  due, 
Didst  kiss  my  gentle  wife,  and  kisses  gave  again  — 
For  these  two  from  mine  axe  two  blows  I  did  but  feign  j 

this  stead  — 
To  true  man  payment  true. 
Of  that  may  none  have  dread, 
Then,  didst  withhold  my  due, 
Therefore  thy  blood  I  shed.' 

XVI 

*'T  is  my  weed  thou  dost  wear,  that  self-same  lace  of  green, 
'T  was  woven  by  my  wife,  I  know  it  well,  I  ween, 
Thy  kisses  all  I  know,  thy  ways,  thy  virtues  all. 
The  wooing  of  my  wife,  't  was  I  who  willed  it  all; 
I  bade  her  test  thy  truth  —  By  God  who  gave  me  birth  | 
Thou  art  the  truest  knight  that  ever  trode  this  earth! 
As  one  a  pearl  doth  prize,  measured  'gainst  pease,  tho'  white, 
So  do  I  hold  Gawain  above  all  other  knight! 
Didst  thou  a  little  lack,  Sir  Knight,  in  loyalty, 
'T  was  not  for  woman's  love,  or  aught  of  villainy, 
'T  was  but  for  love  of  life,  therefore  I  blame  thee  less  — * 
Awhile  Sir  Gawain  stood,  silent,  for  sorriness, 
Right  sore  aggrieved  was  he,  and  angered  at  that  same; 
Then  all  his  body's  blood  rushed  to  his  face  in  flame. 
And  all  for  shame  he  shrank,  while  yet  the  Green  Knight 
spake  — 

[  99  ] 


Then  in  this  fashion  first  lament  the  knight  did  make; 
*  Covetousness,  accurst  be  thou,  and  cowardice, 
In  virtue's  stead  ye  bring  both  villainy  and  vice  — ' 
With  that  he  caught  the  knot,  and  loosed  the  lace  so  bright, 
Giveth  the  girdle  green  again  to  the  Green  Knight, 
*Lo!  there  the  false  thing  take,  a  foul  fate  it  befall. 
Fear  of  thy  blow,  it  taught  me  cowardice  withal, 
With  custom  covetous  to  league  me,  and  thus  wrong 
Largesse  and  loyalty,  which  do  to  knights  belong. 
Faulty  am  I,  and  false,  to  fear  hath  been  a  prey, 
From  treachery  and  untruth  is  sorrow  born  alway, 

and  care  — 

So  here  I  own  to  thee 

That  faithless  did  I  fare; 

Take  thou  thy  will  of  me. 

Henceforth  I'll  be  more  'ware!' 

XVII 

The  Green  Knight  laughed  aloud,  and  spake  right  merrily, 
*  Whole  am  I  of  the  hurt  that  thou  didst  deal  to  me; 
Thy  misdeeds  hast  thou  shewn,  and  hast  confessed  thee  clean. 
Hast  borne  the  penance  sharp  of  this,  mine  axe-edge  keen, 
I  hold  thee  here  absolved,  and  purged  as  clean  this  morn 
As  thou  hadst  ne'er  done  wrong  since  the  day  thou  wert  born. 
This  girdle,  hemmed  with  gold.  Sir  Knight,  I  give  to  thee, 
'T  is  green  as  this  my  robe,  as  thou  right  well  may'st  see, 
Look  thou  thereon,  Gawain,  whenas  thou  forth  dost  fare, 

[  lOO  1 


Mid  many  a  prince  of  price,  and  this  for  token  bear 

Of  chance  midst  chivalrous  knights,  that  thou  didst  here 

abide  — 
And  thou,  in  this  New  Year  with  me  shalt  homeward  ride, 
With  me  in  revel  spend  the  remnant  of  this  tide 

I  ween  — ' 

The  lord,  he  held  him  fast, 

Quoth:  'Tho'  my  wife  hath  been 

Your  foe,  that  is  well  past. 

Peace  be  ye  twain  between!' 

XVIII 

*Nay,  forsooth,'  quoth  Gawain,  he  seized  his  helm  full  fain, 
And  set  it  on  his  head,  and  thanked  his  host  again; 
*Sad  was  my  sojourning,  yet  bliss  be  yours  alway, 
May  He,  who  ruleth  all,  right  swiftly  ye  repay. 
To  her,  your  comely  wife,  commend  me  courteously, 
Yea,  and  that  other  dame,  honoured  they  both  may  be       _ 
Who  thus  their  knight  with  craft  right  skilful  did  beguile  — 
And  yet  small  marvel  't  is  if  one,  thro'  woman's  wile 
Befooled  shall  be  oft-times,  and  brought  to  sorrow  sore, 
For  so  was  he  betrayed,  Adam,  our  sire,  of  yore. 
And  Solomon  full  oft!  Delilah  swift  did  bring 
Samson  unto  his  fate;  and  David  too,  the  king, 
By  Bathsheba  ensnared,  grief  to  his  lot  must  fall  —  ' 
Since  women  these  beguiled  't  were  profit  great  withal 
An  one  might  love  them  well,  and  yet  believe  them  not! 

I  loi  ] 


For  of  all  men  on  earth  had  these  the  fairest  lot, 
All  other  they  excelled  'neath  Heaven  —  if  they,  God  wot, 

be  mused, 

Yielding  themselves  to  wile 

Of  women,  whom  they  used. 

Then,  an  one  me  beguile, 

I  hold  me  well  excused.' 

XIX 

*But  for  your  girdle,  good,  may  God  the  gift  repay, 

I  take  it  of  good  will;  not  for  its  gold  alway, 

For  samite,  nor  for  silk,  nor  for  its  pendants  fair. 

For  worship,  nor  for  weal,  will  I  that  token  wear; 

In  sign  of  this,  my  sin,  the  silk  I  still  shall  see, 

And,  riding  in  renown,  reproach  me  bitterly. 

Of  this  my  fault,  how  flesh  is  all  too  frail,  and  fain 

To  yield  when  sore  enticed,  and  gather  to  it  stain. 

Thus,  when  for  prowess  fair  in  arms  I  yield  to  pride, 

I, '11  look  upon  this  lace,  and  so  more  humbly  ride. 

But  one  thing  would  I  pray,  an  so  it  please  ye  well, 

Lord  are  ye  of  this  land,  where  I  awhile  did  dwell 

With  ye  in  worship  fair  —  (For  this,  reward  be  told 

From  Him  who  sits  on  high,  and  doth  the  world  uphold  — ) 

But  tell  me  now  your  name,  no  more  from  ye  I  crave  — ' 

'That  truly  will  I  tell,'  so  spake  that  baron  brave: 

'  Bernlak  de  Hautdesert,  so  men  me  rightly  call  — 

'T  is  she,  Morgain  la  Faye,  who  dwelleth  in  mine  hally 

[    102    ] 


(Who  knoweth  many  a  craft,  well  versed  in  cunning  wile. 
Mistress  of  Merlin  erst,)  doth  many  a  man  beguile, 
(And  many  a  druerie  dear  she  dealt  with  that  same  wight, 
Who  was  a  skilful  clerk,  and  well  he  knew  each  knight 

of  fame  — ) 

Morgain,  the  goddess,  she. 

So  men  that  lady  name, 

And  none  so  proud  shall  be 

But  she  his  pride  can  tamel' 

XX 

*She  sent  me  in  this  guise  unto  King  Arthur's  hall 

To  test  your  knightly  pride,  if  it  were  sooth,  withal. 

The  fair  renown  that  runs,  of  this,  your  Table  Round, 

'T  was  she  taught  me  the  craft  which  ye  so  strange  have 

found. 
To  grieve  Gaynore,  the  queen,  and  her  to  death  to  fright 
Thro'  fear  of  that  same  man  who  spake,  a  ghastly  sight, 
Before  the  table  high,  with  severed  head  in  hand  — 
'T  is  she,  that  ancient  dame  ye  saw  in  this  my  land, 
And  she  is  e'en  thine  aunt,  sister  to  Arthur  true. 
Born  of  Tintagel's  dame,  whom  later  Uther  knew, 
And  gat  with  her  a  son,  Arthur,  our  noble  king. 
Therefore  unto  thine  aunt  I  would  thee  straightway  bring. 
Make  merry  in  mine  house,  my  men  are  to  thee  fain, 
And  I  wish  thee  as  well,  here  on  my  faith,  Gawain, 
As  any  man  on  earth,  for  true  art  thou,  and  tried  — ' 

[   103   ] 


But  yet  he  said  him  'nay'  with  him  he  would  not  ride. 
They  clasp,  and  kiss  again  —  the  other,  each  commends 
Unto  the  Prince  of  Peace,  and  there  they  part  as  friends 

on  mould  — 

To  the  king's  hall,  I  ween. 

Sir  Gawain  rideth  bold. 

He  gat,  that  knight  in  green,  /'[ 

Where'er  he  would  on  wold. 

XXl 

The  wild  ways  of  the  world  Sir  Gawain  now  must  trace 
A-horse,  of  this  his  life,  he  now  hath  gotten  grace; 
He  harbours  oft  in  house,  and  oft,  I  ween,  without, 
Oft  venture  bold,  in  vale,  vanquished  In  battle  stout, 
Such  as,  at  this  same  time,  I  care  not  to  recall  — 
Whole  was  the  hurt  he  won  upon  his  neck  withal, 
And  the  bright  belt  of  green  he  ware  about  him  wound, 
Even  in  baldric's  wise,  fast  at  his  side  't  was  bound; 
'Neath  his  left  arm  the  lace  was  fastened  in  a  knot. 
This  token  of  his  fault  he  bare  with  him,  I  wot. 
So  Cometh  he  to  court,  all  hale,  the  knight  so  true. 
Weal  wakened  in  those  halls  whenas  the  dwellers  knew 
That  good  Gawain  had  come  —  Methinks  they  deemed  it 

gain. 
To  greet  that  knight  with  kiss  the  king  and  queen  were  fain, 
And  many  a  valiant  knight  would  kiss  and  clasp  him  there  — 
Eager,  they  tidings  ask,  How  did  his  venture  fare? 

[   104  ] 


And  he  doth  truly  tell  of  all  his  toil  and  care; 
Of  the  Green  Chapel's  chance,  the  fashion  of  the  knight, 
The  lady's  proffered  love,  last,  of  the  lace  aright 
He  tells,  and  on  his  neck  he  shews  them,  as  a  brand, 
The  cut  that,  for  his  fault,  he  v/on  from  that  knight's  hand 

in  blame  — 

Grieving,  he  spake  alway. 

And  groaned  for  very  shame. 

The  red  blood  rose,  that  day. 

E'en  to  his  face,  like  flame. 

XXII 

*Lo!  lord,'  so  spake  the  knight,  handling  the  lace  so  fair, 
*  See  here  the  brand  of  blame  that  on  my  neck  I  bear, 
Lo!  here  the  harm  and  loss  I  to  myself  have  wrought, 
The  cowardice  covetous  in  which  I  there  was  caught, 
This  token  of  untruth,  wherein  I  was  held  fast; 
And  I  this  needs  must  wear  long  as  my  life  shall  last. 
For  none  may  hide  his  harm,  nor  may  that  be  undone, 
Once  caught  within  a  snare  the  net  is  ne'er  unspun  1 ' 
The  king,  he  cheered  the  knight,  the  courtiers,  with  their  lord, 
Laughed  loudly  at  the  tale,  and  sware  with  one  accord, 
That  lords  and  ladies  all,  of  this,  the  Table  Round, 
Each  of  the  Brotherhood,  should  bear,  as  baldric  bound. 
About  his  waist,  a  band,  a  badge  of  green  so  bright. 
This  would  they  fitly  wear  in  honour  of  that  knight. 
With  one  accord  they  sware,  those  knights  so  good  and  true, 

[   105   ] 


And  he  who  bare  that  badge  the  greater  honour  knew. 
The  best  book  of  Romance,  in  that 't  is  written  all, 
How  in  King  Arthur's  days  this  venture  did  befall. 
The  Brutus  books  thereof,  I  trow,  shall  witness  bear  — 
And  since  Brutus  the  bold  at  first  did  hither  fare. 
Whose  fathers  the  assault  and  siege  of  Troy  did  share, 

I  wis, 
Many  have  been  of  yore 
The  ventures  such  as  this, 
Christ,  who  a  thorn-crown  bore, 
Bring  us  unto  His  bliss!  Amen. 


€^i  (^btomfuree  of  f^tt^ut  at  t^t 

Of  the  days  of  King  Arthur  this  marvel  is  told, 

By  Tarn  Wadeling's  water  —  the  book  so  doth  tell  — 

To  Carlisle  had  he  come  then,  that  conqueror  bold, 

With  dukes,  and  with  douzepeers,  who  gladly  there  dwell. 

The  herd  would  they  hunt,  that  remote  had  their  hold, 

Till  one  day  they  did  dight  them  to  ride  through  the  dell  ■ 

To  harry  the  hinds,  hidden  deep  in  the  wold. 

In  the  close-time,  they  gat  them  o'er  frith  and  o'er  fell. 

They  went  to  the  woodland  in  fair  knightly  weed, 

And  rode,  King  and  Queen, 

With  knights  doughty,  I  ween, 

Good  Sir  Gawain  in  green, 

Queen  Gaynore  doth  lead. 

Then  Sir  Gawain  the  good  Dame  Gaynore  doth  lead 

In  glittering  raiment,  gleaming  so  gay, 

And  laced  all  with  ribbons,  (who  rightly  doth  read) 

That  decked  it  all  over  in  richest  array. 

A  fair  hood  of  azure  she  weareth  indeed, 

With  purple,  and  pall-work,  and  pearls  for  her  pay, 

A  short  cloak  doth  shroud  her  'gainst  rain,  if  she  need, 

Set  over  with  sapphires  —  (who  soothly  will  say.)  — 

Sapphire,  chalcedony,  wrought  on  each  side, 

[   109  ] 


And  her  saddle  that  ilk, 
With  rich  trappings  of  silk; 
On  a  mule  white  as  milk 
She  gaily  doth  ride. 

Thus  Dame  Gaynore,  the  good,  most  gaily  that  tide 

Fared  forth  with  Sir  Gawain,  beside  a  fair  well, 

On  a  courser  the  knight  full  comely  him  hied, 

Bred  was  it  in  Burgundy,  I  have  heard  tell. 

So  long  he  led  Gaynore,  that  fair  loch  beside, 

By  a  laurel  she  lighteth  low  down,  near  the  fell,  — 

The  King  with  his  nobles  doth  steadily  ride. 

Their  tryst  would  he  shew  them,  there  in  a  green  dell.  — 

Their  tryst  hath  he  shewn  them,  that  truly  I  trow, 

Each  lord  without  let, 

'Neath  a  tree  is  he  set, 

With  bow  and  brachet 

'Neath  the  green  woodland  bough. 

Thus  they  bide  'neath  the  boughs,  those  barons  so  bold. 
Barren  hinds  do  they  wait  for,  by  banks  bleak  and  bare; 
The  nobles  on  high,  the  herds  they  behold, 
The  horns  do  they  hearken,  thro'  holts  ringing  fair. 
Their  hounds  they  uncouple,  beneath  cliffs  so  cold, 
Caress  them,  and  comfort,  to  cure  them  of  care. 
They  fall  on  the  hinds  then,  in  fell  force  enfold, 
With  hounds  fierce  and  fresh  do  they,  following,  fare. 

[   no  ] 


Z^t  (^iy>in(v.vte  of  (^tf^wr 

Thus  they  quest  and  they  quell, 
By  frith  and  by  fell, 
Till  the  deer  in  the  dell 
They  scatter  and  scare. 


In  the  dusk  of  the  groves  the  deer  fain  would  hide; 
For  terror  of  death,  droops  and  trembles  the  doe  — 
To  the  wild  water  sweeping,  in  swift  swirling  tide, 
There  war  on  the  wild  swine,  it  worketh  them  woe. 
The  hunters,  they  halloo  thro'  wood,  and  hillside, 
They  stir  up  the  brachets  to  follow  the  roe, 
No  rest,  and  no  respite  they  grant  at  that  tide. 
The  hounds  thro'  the  green  groves,  so  gladly  they  go. 
So  gladly  they  go,  'neath  the  fair  greenwood  tree  — 

The  King  blows  a  rechase; 

Fast  follows  the  race, 

With  Serjeants  of  mace, 

The  sport  fain  to  see. 

Thus,  that  solace  to  see,  knights  fairest  withal 

Their  sovereign  sought,  'neath  the  shadow  and  sheen, 

All  saving  Sir  Gawain,  the  gayest  of  all. 

Who  is  left  with  Dame  Gaynore,  beneath  the  groves  green. 

By  a  laurel  she  lay,  in  a  fair  leafy  hall, 

Of  box  and  of  barberry  well  built,  I  ween, 

There  did,  at  the  noontide,  this  venture  befall. 

And  this  mickle  marvel,  I  trow  me,  was  seen. 

[   III   ] 


Z^i  (^iiointutie  of  (^vt^v 

This  marvel  I  fain  now  would  tell,  an  I  might, 
The  day  waxed  as  drear 
As  tho'  midnight  drew  near, 
King  Arthur,  in  fear, 
From  his  steed  doth  alight. 


To  find  them  on  foot  those  knights  scarce  were  fain, 

They  fled  to  the  forest  by  fen  and  by  fell. 

They  ran  to  their  brachets,  for  ruth  of  the  rain. 

And  snow,  sharply  smiting,  that  drifts  thro'  the  dell. 

Then  there  came  from  the  loch,  in  a  form  I'll  make  plain. 

In  Lucifer's  likeness,  one  fashioned  in  hell, 

Thus,  gliding  to  Gaynore  its  way  hath  it  ta'en, 

Lamenting  so  loudly,  with  shriek  and  with  yell. 

With  moaning  and  mourning,  the  tears  fast  they  fleet  — 

Then  it  saith,  sighing  sair, 
*Woe  to  her  who  me  bare, 

I  be  come  to  such  care 

That  I  grieve  and  I  greet!* 

Then,  full  sorely  greeting,  Dame  Gaynore,  the  gay, 
She  calls  on  Sir  Gawain:  'What  now  is  thy  rede?' 
"T  is  but  an  eclipse,  so  I  heard  a  clerk  say.' 
Thus,  knightly,  he  comforts  the  queen  in  her  need. 
'Sir  Cador,  Sir  Constantine,  Sir  Cleges,  Sir  Kay,' 
She  cries,  'knights  uncourteous,  by  cross  and  by  creed, 
Thus  lonely  to  leave  me,  at  this,  my  death-day, 

[    112    I 


^^t  (^iMinttitee  of  (^vt^w 

With  the  grisliest  ghost  that  from  grave  e'er  was  freed!' 
'For  the  ghost,'  quoth  the  hero,  'now  have  no  more  care, 

For  that  spirit  I'll  hail, 

And  will  hearken  its  tale, 

May  I  better  the  bale 

Of  the  body  so  bare.' 

All  bare  was  the  body,  black  was  the  bone, 

Enwrapped  in  a  clout,  for  clothing  ill  clad. 

It  mourned  and  lamented  as  women  make  moan, 

Of  skin,  nor  of  colour,  no  covering  it  had. 

It  stayed  itself,  standing,  as  still  as  a  stone, 

It  groaned,  and  it  glared,  and  it  made  as  one  mad  — 

To  that  ghost,  grim  and  grisly.  Sir  Gawain  hath  gone. 

And  nigheth  it  swiftly,  nor  fear  thereof  had  — 

Afraid  was  he  never,  —  who  readeth  aright  — 

On  her  cheek  bare  and  dry 

A  toad  might  ye  spy, 

All  hollow  her  eye. 

As  embers  glow  bright. 

As  embers  red  glowing;  the  ghost,  as  it  glides. 

Was  wrapt  in  a  clout,  in  111  clothing  and  drear. 

Set  over  with  serpents  that  clung  to  its  sides. 

To  tell  of  the  toads  were  a  tale  full  of  fear. 

He  drew  forth  his  brand,  and  the  phantom  he  bides, 

The  hero,  so  chivalrous,  changeth  not  cheer; 

[  113  1 


t^i  (^btoenfuree  of  (gtt^ut 

The  hounds  seek  the  holts,  their  heads  fain  to  hide. 
With  greyhounds,  aghast  at  the  grim  sounds  they  hear. 
Aghast  are  the  hounds  as  the  grim  ghost  draws  near  — 

The  birds  in  the  tree, 

When  the  phantom  they  see, 

They  shriek  piercingly, 

The  men  might  them  hear. 

The  men  might  them  hear,  the  fairest  in  hall, 
(Her  jaw  how  it  chattered,  from  cheek  to  the  chin), 
The  knight  he  conjures  it,  in  Christ's  name  doth  call: 
'By  the  King  on  the  cross,  the  Cleanser  of  sin, 
Say  now,  thou  weird  wight,  whither  goest  withal? 
And  wherefore  dost  wander  these  wild  woods  within?* 
She  spake:  'Once  in  flesh  clad,  the  fairest  of  all, 
Christened,  and  chrisomed,  with  kings  in  my  kin, 
I  had  kings  for  my  kin,  who  were  good  knights,  and  keen 

God  hath  set,  in  His  grace. 

For  my  penance,  this  place, 

And  I  come  in  this  case 

To  speak  with  the  queen.* 

'For  queen  was  I,  somewhile,  and  brighter  of  brow 
Than  beryl,  on  Brangwain,  maiden  so  bold, 
Of  game,  and  of  gladness,  on  this  earth,  I  trow. 
More  had  I  than  Gaynore,  by  great  sums  of  gold. 
Of  park  and  of  pales,  of  pond  and  of  plough, 

[   114  1 


t^i  (giunhtte  of  (^xt^m 

Of  towers,  and  towns,  and  of  treasures  untold, 
Of  castles,  of  countries,  of  cliffs,  yea,  enow, 
From  kith  am  I  cast  forth  to  care  grim  and  cold  — 
Cold  care  is  my  portion,  my  couch  is  but  clay  — 

Lo!  see,  courteous  knight. 

Death  to  dole  hath  me  dight; 

I  would  fain  have  a  sight 

Of  Gaynore,  the  gay  1 ' 

Then  Sir  Gawain,  the  good,  to  Gaynore  hath  gone. 

To  that  body  hath  brought  her  —  and  the  bride  bright, 

She  quoth:  'Welcome  Waynore,  who  worship  dost  own, 

Behold  how  thy  mother  is  dolefully  dight! 

For  my  cheek,  it  was  redder  than  rose  fully  blown. 

My  face,  it  was  fairer  than  lily  so  white, 

Grim  ghost  am  I  now,  and  right  grisly  my  groan. 

Laid  low  in  a  loch,  in  Lucifer's  might  — 

Thus  low  am  I  laid,  take  ye  witness  of  me  — 

For  tho'  fair  ye  appear 

In  your  mirror  so  clear, 

King,  Duke,  and  Kaisere, 

All  thus  shall  ye  be! 

Thus  Death  will  ye  dight,  of  that  have  no  doubt. 
So  hearken  and  heed  thee  while  yet  thou  art  fair. 
When,  richly  arrayed,  thou  dost  ride  forth  in  rout 
Then  pity  the  poor,  for  his  sorrows  have  care, 

[   115   1 


€U  (^i)>intuus  of  (^vt^v 

Ere  men  and  ere  maidens  shall  come  thee  about 
And  thy  body,  embalmed,  on  bier  forth  shall  fare. 
They  will  leave  thee  full  lightly,  that  now  lowly  lout, 
And  nothing  may  aid  thee  but  penance  and  prayer. 
For  the  prayer  of  the  poor  it  may  purchase  thee  peace 
Give  the  poor  at  thy  gate 
When  thou  sittest  in  state, 
With  mirth  for  thy  mate, 
And  dainties  on  dai's.  — 

With  dainties  on  dais  thy  dishes  are  dight, 
And  in  dungeon  and  dole  is  my  fortune  so  fell, 
Naked  and  needy,  and  nauseous  to  sight, 
The  place  it  is  loathsome  wherein  I  must  dwell. 
They  handle  me  hardly,  they  heave  me  on  height. 
In  brass  and  in  brimstone  I  'm  molten  as  bell, 
I  wot  not  in  this  world  so  woeful  a  wight, 
'T  were  hard  for  a  tongue  all  my  torments  to  tell. 
Yet  I 'Id  tell  of  these  torments  ere  hence  I  must  go  — 
Think  thou  truly  on  this, 
Mend  what  now  is  amiss, 
I  have  warned  thee,  I  wis. 
Be  thou  ware  of  my  woe!' 

*Woe  is  me  for  thy  weird,'  quoth  Gaynore,  'I  wis, 
One  thing  would  I  know,  an  so  thy  will  were. 
Might  matins,  or  mass,  mend  what  now  is  amiss 

[  ii6  ]  . 


€^i  (^iy)in(wi8  of  (^tt^ut 

Or  wealth  of  this  world,  that  to  me  were  right  fair! 

If  bede  of  these  bishops  might  bring  thee  to  bliss, 

Or  cloister,  by  covenant,  cure  thee  of  care  — 

Since  my  mother  thou  art,  I  much  marvel  at  this 

That  thus  thy  fair  body  be  waxen  so  bare?' 

She  quoth,  'My  womb  bare  thee,  what  boots  to  deny? 

And  this  token  may'st  trow, 

That  I  once  brake  a  vow 

As  I  only,  and  thou 

Knew,  thus  truth  may  ye  try!' 

Quoth  Gaynore:   'Now  say,  what  from   dole  may  thee 

light? 
Holy  men  from  the  city  I  '11  seek  for  thy  sake. 
For  those  beasts,  all  so  baleful,  thy  body  that  bite. 
And  thy  blood  turned  to  blackness,    mine  eyes  blind  they 

make!' 
'Nay,  these  were  my  lovers,  erst-while  my  delight, 
But  now  have  they  brought  me  thus  low,  in  this  lake. 
All  the  wealth  of  this  world,  it  hath  now  taken  flight. 
While  these  worms,  so  wretched,  my  torment  they  make. 
Thus  to  wrath  am  I  wrought,  but,  sweet  Waynore,  I  wis, 

Masses  nine  hundred,  done 

'Twixt  undern  and  noon 

My  soul  had,  right  soon. 

Brought,  succoured,  to  bliss.' 

I   117  1 


Zi^t  (§r'i>y>in(uue  of  (^ttht 

*To  bliss  may  He  bring  thee,  who  bought  us  with  blood, 

Who  reigned  from  the  cross,  all  crowned  with  thorn, 

(Wast  christened,  and  chrisomed,  with  candle  so  good, 

And  bathed  in  a  fair  font,  tho'  now  art  forlorn.) 

And  Mary,  His  Mother,  who  mild  is  of  mood. 

Of  whom  that  Blest  Bairn  was  in  Bethlehem  born, 

Give  me  grace,  that  thy  soul  I  may  greet  with  the  good  - 

I  will  mind  thee  with  matins,  and  mass,  come  the  morn!' 

*To  mind  me  with  masses  I  trow,  were  great  need! 

For  Christ's  sake,  on  rood, 

Prithee  deal  of  thy  good 

To  those  who  lack  food 

Whilst  thou  life  here  dost  lead.' 

*Here  I  proffer  my  hand,  thy  behest  will  I  hold, 

With  a  million  of  masses  thy  peace  will  I  win; 

But  one  thing,'  quoth  Waynore,  '  I  fain  would  be  told 

What  angers  Christ  most?   Say,  canst  tell  me  the  sin?' 

*Yea,  Pride,  with  his  panoply;  prophets  of  old 

They  preached  to  the  people  right  truly  herein. 

It  bears  branches  full  bitter,  thereof  be  thou  bold, 

For  many  good  knights,  they  break  God's  law  herein  — 

Who  breaketh  God's  bidding,  bare  Is  he  of  bliss  — 

Save  thou  salve  that  sore  fair 

Certes,  ere  thou  hence  fare 

Thou  shalt  find  mickle  care 

Fair  Waynore,  I  wis!* 
[  ii8  1 


C^e  @li))enfutee  of  (^tt^uv 

*Now  tell  me,'  quoth  Waynore,  *if  so  be  thou  may, 
What  bede  best  may  boot  us,  to  endless  bliss  bring?' 
'Now,  Measure,  and  Meekness,  they  come  first  alway, 
To  pity  the  poor  man,  that  pleasures  Our  King! 
'T  is  Charity  leadeth  the  pure  on  their  way. 
And  almsgiving  profits  o'er  all  other  thing, 
Of  the  Holy  Ghost,  gracious  and  good  gifts  be  they 
Who  inspireth  each  spirit,  and  wasteth  no  thing. 
But  now  of  this  spirit  no  more  will  I  say  — 

Whiles  in  gladness  thou  art 

Hold  these  words  in  thy  heart, 

Here  but  fleeting  thy  part 

And  from  hence  must  away!' 

'How  fare  we,'  quoth  Gawain,  'who  go  forth  to  fight, 
And  vanquish  these  folk  in  full  many  a  land? 
Rich  realms,  we  o'er-run  them,  in  sooth,  against  right. 
Winning  worship  and  wealth  thro'  the  strength  of  our  hand.' 
'Too  greedy  your  King,  and  too  keen  be  his  knights. 
And  no  strength  may  stir  him  the  while  his  luck  stand, 
But  yet  in  his  majesty,  when  most  in  might, 
Full  low  shall  he  lie,  beside  the  sea-sand. 
Thus  your  chivalrous  King  shall  suffer  mischance  — 
So  goes  Fortune  in  fight. 
The  wondrous  wheel-wright. 
Makes  that  depth  which  was  height, 
Now  take  witness  by  France  — ' 

[   119  ] 


Z^t  (^iMntuue  of  (^x($w 

*For  France,  in  a  fair  fight,  and  freely,  ye  won, 
And  Frollo  and  Farnet,  the  twain  ye  left  dead, 
Bretagne  and  Burgundy,  both  be  undone, 
And  all  the  Douzeperes  of  your  dints  be  in  dread.   ) 
Now  Jean  he  may  greet  that  that  war  was  begun,  i 
No  folk,  on  that  land  they  may  live,  in  this  stead, 
Yet  the  rich  realm  of  Rome  shall  by  you  be  o'errun, 
And  at  the  Round  Table  the  rental  be  read  — 
Yet  loss  is  its  lot,  at  the  last  as  I  ween. 

Get  thee  forth,  good  Gawain, 
Turn  thy  face  to  Tuscane, 
Or  thou  losest  Bretagne, 
Thro'  a  bold  knight  and  keen.* 

*A  knight,  he  shall  keenly  lay  claim  to  the  crown 
At  Carlisle,  I  trow,  men  shall  crown  him  as  king, 
Therewith  shall  invest  him,  in  session  laid  down, 
And  sorrow  and  bale  he  to  Britain  shall  bring. 
Ye  shall  hear  this  in  Tuscany,  where  ye  be  bound. 
And  turn,  when  the  tiding  of  treason  they  bring. 
There  shall  the  Round  Table  be  robbed  of  renown 
When  Ramsay  the  rich  with  the  conflict  shall  ring. 
And  at  Dorset  shall  die  knights,  the  bravest  of  all  — 
Get  thee  forth,  good  Gawain, 
Bravest  thou  in  Bretagne, 
On  the  shore  shalt  be  slain, 
Marvels  strange  shall  befall!' 
[  120  ] 


t^i  (^iuntuue  of  (gtiht 

'Such  marvels  shall  chance,  with  never  a  fable, 
On  Cornwall,  Its  coasts,  betwixt  knights  so  keen. 
There  Arthur,  the  comely,  the  steadfast,  and  stable, 
Full  sore  shall  be  wounded,  to  death,  as  I  ween. 
An  all  that  rout  royal,  the  noble  Round  Table, 
Shall  die  on  that  day,  when  brave  deeds  are  seen. 
Thus,  tricked  by  a  traitor,  with  shield  all  of  sable, 
With  sauter  for  badge,  in  silver  so  sheen; 
His  shield  is  of  sable,  who  soothly  will  say  — 

Yea,  in  King  Arthur's  hall 

Does  that  child  play  at  ball 

Who  betrayeth  ye  all 

Right  dearly,  one  day.' 

She  quoth,  'Good-day,  Gawain,  and  Gaynore  the  good, 
No  longer  I  linger  here,  tidings  to  tell, 
But  I  walk  on  my  way,  throughout  yonder  wood, 
Alas,  where  I  bide  now  is  woeful  to  dwell. 
For  His  sake  who,  righteous,  once  hung  on  the  rood. 
Think  now  on  the  dole  where,  in  doom,  I  must  dwell, 
And  succour  my  soul  with  some  measure  of  good. 
And  mind  me  with  masses,  and  bedes  for  me  tell  — 
For  masses  amend  us,  who  in  bale  abide,  — 
And  to  us  they  be  sweet 
As  the  spice  which  ye  eat  — ' 
The  ghost  grisly  doth  greet, 
As  away  she  doth  glide. 

[    121    ] 


Z^t  (^■by>intuxte  of  (^xtht 

With  greeting  thus  grisly  the  ghost  away  glides, 
With  groaning  so  grim  it  were  gruesome  to  hear, 
The  wind  and  the  welkin,  the  weather,  that  tide, 
Abate.  Lo!  the  clouds  part,  the  sun  waxeth  clear. 
The  King  blew  his  bugle  on  bent  where  he  bides, 
The  fair  folk  on  field  they  flock  to  him  near. 
And  all  the  rout  royal  towards  the  Queen  rides 
And  welcome  her  gladly,  with  courteous  cheer. 
The  knights,  at  the  weather  they  wonder  alway  — 
Princes,  proudest  in  pall, 
With  Queen  Gaynore,  they  all 
To  Rondall-seat  Hall, 
For  meat  go,  straightway. 

When  the  King,  he  was  set,  and  served,  in  his  hall, 
With  silk  o'er  his  head,  and  dainties  well  dight. 
With  wealth  at  his  will,  and  choice  wines  withal, 
With  birds  baked  in  bread,  on  gold  burnished  bright, 
Lo!  one  with  a  citole,  whose  notes  softly  fall. 
Then  a  lady  so  lovesome,  leading  a  knight. 
She  rides  to  the  dai's,  and  there,  'fore  them  all. 
She  haileth  King  Arthur,  who  sits  on  its  height; 
And  saith  to  the  sovereign,  fairest  in  weed  — 
'Now,  man  matchless  in  might, 
Here  an  heir,  and  a  knight. 
Do  him  reason  and  right. 
For  thine  honour  take  heedl' 

[    122    ] 


Z^i  f^iiomtnue  of  ^vi^ux 

In  his  mantle  enfolded  he  sat  at  his  meat, 
His  pall  as  a  peacock  was  proudly  bedight, 
Besprinkled  with  true-loves,  in  fair  knots,  and  meet, 
The  tassels  of  topaz,  gay  gleaming,  and  bright. 
With  eyes  great  and  grey,  he  looked  up,  swift  to  greet, 
With  beard  beaver-hued,  so  beheld  he  that  knight, 
The  seemliest  lord  that  e'er  sat  on  high  seat 
Whom  suppliant  sought,  or  beheld  e'er  with  sight. 
Thus  the  King,  fair  and  comely,  he  spake  soft  and  still  ■ 

And  saith:  *Lady,  alight. 

And  abide  here  all  night, 

Whence  this  heir  and  this  knight? 

What  now  is  thy  will?' 

'T  was  the  loveliest  lady  seen  upon  mold. 

In  glorious  raiment  garbed,  all  of  grass-green, 

All  white  was  her  girdle,  with  birds  broidered  bold. 

Adorned  with  besants,  and  buckle  of  sheen. 

Her  hair  with  fine  pearls  was  entwined,  and  rolled. 

With  fillet  and  caul  wrought  of  colour  so  clean. 

Her  coronet,  comely,  was  bright  to  behold. 

Her  kerchiefs  were  rare,  and  pins  precious,  I  ween. 

Her  apparel  was  praised  by  princes  of  might  — 

And  bright  dames  behold 

With  pleasure  untold 

The  charms  manifold 

Of  that  maid  and  her  knight. 

[  123  1 


t^t  (^iy>in(nU6  of  (^tt^ixv 

That  knight  in  his  harness  was  well  armed,  I  ween, 
His  crest,  it  was  comely,  and  bright  to  behold, 
In  hauberk  and  helmet  accoutred,  so  keen  — 
(The  helmet  was  bordered  with  bright  burnished  gold) 
And  milk-white  his  mail,  that  well  tested  hath  been. 
And  his  horse's  fair  trappings,  so  true  men  have  told, 
With  a  shield  on  his  shoulder  of  silver  so  sheen, 
With  boar's  heads  of  sable  —  his  glance  keen  and  bold, 
And  cendal  of  Tars  swept  to  his  steed's  heel  — 
On  the  chamfron  is  borne, 
(E'en  as  'twere  unicorn  — ) 
Keen,  and  sharp  as  a  thorn,  ' 
A  spike  all  of  steel. 

In  steel  was  he  closed,  that  knight  stern  on  steed, 
With  stars  wrought  of  gold  besprinkled  alway, 
His  gloves  and  his  doublet,  they  gleam  red  indeed, 
Adorned  with  ribbons  in  richest  array. 
The  leg-bands  are  shining,  to  shelter  from  need, 
The  knee-plates  with  peridots  powdered  so  gay, 
Thus,  lance  raised  aloft,  he  the  lady  doth  lead, 
His  squire,  on  a  Friesland  foal  follows,  i-fay. 
The  foal  was  afraid,  and  feared  for  the  fare  — 

He  was  ne'er  wont  to  see 

Such  fair  tapestrie. 

Such  game  and  such  glee, 

I  trow,  he  saw  ne'er! 
I    124  ] 


€U  (^iuntmis  of  ^tt^ut 

Then  the  King  called  upon  him,  in  hearing  of  all, 

'Whence  art  thou  bold  baron?  What  now  is  thy  will? 

Say,  whence  art  thou  come,  whither  goest  withal? 

Why  check  thou  thy  steed?  Why  dost  thou  stand  still?' 

Then  he  lifted  his  vizor  before  them  in  hall. 

With  countenance  knightly,  he  spake  of  good  will: 

*Be  thou  Kaiser,  or  King,  here  on  thee  do  I  call 

To  find  me  a  foeman  to  fight  me  my  fill. 

Since  to  fight  I  am  fain,  and  thus  fare  at  this  same  — ' 

The  King  spake  forthright, 

'Now  abide  here  all  night, 

An  thou  be  courteous  knight. 

And  tell  me  thy  name!' 

'Sir  Galeron,  I,'  so  he  quoth,  'without  guile, 

In  Galloway  greatest,  by  river  and  rill. 

Of  Carrick,  and  Cumnake,  Coninghame,  Kyle, 

Lonwick,  and  Lennox,  of  Lauder's  fair  hill. 

All  these  hast  thou  won  thee,  in  war,  by  thy  wile, 

And  given  to  Gawain,  that  liketh  me  ill. 

Yet  shalt  thou  thy  hands  wring,  bemoan  thee  by  whiles, 

Ere  any  bear  rule  there  against  my  good  will  — 

Against  my  good  will  the  rule  no  man  shall  wield 

The  while  I  be  here. 

Save  with  shield  and  sharp  spear, 

He  shall  win  it  right  dear 

Upon  a  fair  field!' 

[   125   1 


€^i  O^btoen^utree  of  (^tthv 

*In  fair  field  would  I  fight,  and  thereto  I  make  claim, 
With  such  knight  upon  land  as  shall  be  nobly  born, 
To  lose  such  a  lordship  I  hold  it  for  shame. 
For  every  fair  lady  would  laugh  me  to  scorn.' 
'In  our  woodland  we  be,'  quoth  the  King,  'at  our  game. 
The  herd  are  we  hunting  with  hound  and  with  horn, 
If  good  knight,  and  gladsome,  count  now  on  our  name: 
We'll  match  thee  together  the  morrow's  mid-morn. 
Thus  brave  man,  I  rede  thee,  abide  here  this  night!'  — 

Gawain,  gayest  of  all. 

Led  him  forth  from  the  hall, 

To  a  tent,  which  of  pall 

Was  right  richly  bedight. 

So  richly  bedight  't  was  with  purple  and  pall. 
With  beds  all  o'er  covered  with  broideries  bright. 
Therein  was  a  chapel,  a  chamber,  a  hall, 
A  chimney  of  charcoal,  to  warm  well  the  knight. 
They  take  his  good  steed,  and  they  lead  it  to  stall. 
Of  hay  had  they  filled  up  the  rack  to  the  height, 
They  set  up  a  board,  and  for  coverings  they  call. 
With  salt  and  with  napkin  they  serve  swift  that  knight. 
With  torches,  and  tapers,  and  standards  between  — 

They  serve  that  good  knight, 

And  the  lady  so  bright. 

With  dainties  fair  dight 

Upon  silver  so  sheen. 
[   126  ] 


Thus  In  silver  so  shining  they  serve  at  behest 

Both  the  white  wine,  and  red,  in  cups  fair  and  clean, 

With  sweet  drinks,  and  luscious,  and  meats  of  the  best, 

Rich  dainties  in  dishes  fair  gilded,  I  ween. 

Then,  e'en  as  that  hero  was  led  to  his  rest. 

The  King  called  his  councillors,  brave  knights,  and  keen, 

And  quoth,  'Look  ye,  lordings,  who  meeteth  this  quest? 

Who  shall  cope  with  this  knight,  that  our  prowess  be  seen?* 

Then  answered  Sir  Gawain,  'For  naught  shall  we  grieve, 

I  will  meet  with  this  knight 

To  maintain  mine  own  right. 

So  my  troth  will  I  plight, 

My  lord,  with  your  leave!' 

*I  trow  me,'  quoth  Arthur,  'thou  takest  it  light. 
Yet  small  were  my  joy,  if  of  life  thou  wert  'lorn!' 
*Let  be,'  quoth  Sir  Gawain,  'God  stand  by  the  right, 
For,  an  he  'scape  scatheless,  I  'Id  hold  it  for  scorn.' 
In  the  dawning  of  day,  they,  doughty,  were  dight. 
Heard  matins  and  mass,  so  meekly,  at  morn. 
In  mid  Plumtun  Lone  their  pavilions  were  pight, 
Where  ne'er  before  heroes  had  fought  on  the  lawn. 
The  lists,  they  have  set  them  the  length  of  the  land  — 

They  bring  wine  so  red 

With  three  sops  of  bread 

To  Gawain,  at  this  stead. 

So  the  King  gave  command. 

[  127  1 


The  King,  he  hath  bidden  the  good  Earl  of  Kent 

That  he,  courteous,  care  for  the  challenging  knight, 

And  make  him  on  dainties  to  dine  in  his  tent, 

With  that,  they  array  that  prince  royal,  as  right. 

Then  straight  to  Queen  Waynore  with  wisdom  they  went, 

In  her  ward  would  they  leave  her,  that  lady  so  bright, 

The  heroes,  a-horse,  for  the  field  are  they  bent, 

In  the  lists  on  the  lawn,  those  lords  they  alight  — 

Save  the  stiffest  on  steed,  in  their  stirrups  they  stood  — 

They  place  the  King's  seat 

On  the  da'is,  as  is  meet, 

The  Queen,  she  must  greet 

For  Gawain  the  good. 

Then  Gawain  and  Galeron  spurs  each  his  steed, 

With  glittering  gold  all  gay  is  their  gear. 

The  lords  to  the  lists  swift  the  champions  lead. 

With  serjants  of  mace,  as  doth  fitly  appear. 

The  knights  prick  their  chargers,  until  their  sides  bleed, 

Each  hero  on  field,  he  hath  gripped  fast  his  spear, 

They  shiver  and  splinter  each  shaft  on  the  shield. 

So  justly  they  jousted,  those  knights  without  peer. 

They  shiver  their  shafts  in  the  shields  fair  and  sheen  — 

And  then  with  brands  bright 

On  the  rich  mails  they  smite, 

So  jousted  the  knight 

With  Gawain  on  the  green. 
[   128  1 


^^e  (^btom^utre^  of  (^xt^ux 

Sir  Gawain,  the  good,  he  was  garbed  all  in  green, 

With  gryphons  of  gold,  engraved  so  gay, 

All  studded  with  love-knots,  and  tassels  between, 

On  a  steed  of  high  spirit  he  starts  on  his  way. 

He  takes  him  in  turning,  his  foeman  so  keen, 

Saying,  'Whither  so  wildly?  Thou  ridest  astray!' 

In  his  neck  doth  he  smite  him,  with  sword  sharp  and  sheen, 

That  grieved  Sir  Gawain  until  his  death-day! 

The  dints  of  that  doughty  knight  doleful  have  been  — 

Thro'  mails  sixty  and  more 

That  sword  sharply  shore, 

Thro'  the  collar-bone  bore 

And  cleft  the  shield  clean. 

He  cleaveth  the  cantel  that  covers  the  knight, 
Thro'  shield  and  thro'  shoulder  a  half-foot  he  share. 
Then  discourteous,  he  loudly  doth  laugh  at  that  sight, 
But  Gawain,  he  groaned,  and  he  grieved  sorely  there. 
'This  joust  I  '11  repay  thee,  an  I  read  aright — ' 
He  dashed  at  the  knight  on  a  course  fresh  and  fair. 
Thro'  basnet  and  burnie  that  burnished  were  bright. 
With  brand  sharply  biting,  he  thro'  the  twain  bare. 
He  bare  thro'  the  burnie,  all  burnished  so  bright  — 

He  groaned,  that  knight  gay, 

'T  was  no  jesting,  i-fay. 

His  steed  starts  astray 

The  stirrups  drawn  tight. 
[   129  ] 


C^e  ^btomiuws  of  (^vihv 

With  stirrup  drawn  straight,  a  stern  blow  doth  he  smite 
Aimed  full  at  Sir  Gawain,  as  one  mad  of  mood, 
His  true  love,  she  shrieked,  as  she  sat  on  the  height, 
That  maid,  she  was  mournful  to  see  the  red  blood. 
But  the  lords  and  the  ladies  were  fain  for  that  sight, 
Thank  God  for  the  grace  shown  to  Gawain  the  good  — 
With  a  blow  of  his  brand  that  doth  bitterly  bite 
He  smites  from  Gawaln's  steed  the  head,  as  it  stood  — 
That  fair  foal,  it  faltered,  and  fell,  by  the  rood. 

But  Gawain,  swift  and  smart, 

From  his  stirrups  did  start 

As  one  valiant  of  heart. 

From  Grisell  the  good. 

*Grisell,'  quoth  Gawain,  *is  gone,  so  God  wot, 
The  goodliest  steed  that  ever  bit  bread. 
By  Him  who  in  Beth'lem  was  born  for  our  boot, 
I'll  avenge  him  to-day,  if  I  rightly  have  read!' 
*Now  take  thee  my  Frison,  the  fairest  afoot, 
Methinks  he  shall  stand  thee  right  well  at  this  stead  — * 
*Thy  Frison,  I  prize  it  but  at  a  rush-root. 
For  dole  of  a  dumb  beast  so  dolefully  sped  — 
I  no  Mantichore  mourn,  I  may  yet  get  me  more  — ' 
As  he  stood  by  his  steed 
Which  was  good  in  each  need. 
He  was  nigh  mad  indeed  — 
Sir  Gawain  wept  sore. 

I  130  1 


€^t  (^iy>m(uuB  of  (^xiht 

Sore  weeping  for  woe,  Sir  Gawain,  the  knight, 
He  ran  on  his  foeman,  who  wounded  was  sore, 
The  other  drew  backward,  for  dread  of  his  might, 
Then  spurred  fast  his  steed  on  the  bent  bare  and  hoar. 
*So  spend  we  the  day,'  quoth  Gawain,  'to  the  night, 
The  sun,  it  hath  passed  now  the  noontide,  and  more.' 
Mid  the  lists  on  the  lawn,  the  lord  did  alight; 
'Gainst  the  foe  with  his  brand,  right  bravely  he  bore. 
They  to  battle  betake  them  with  brands  gleaming  bright, 

The  shields  splinters  shed. 

Their  rich  mails  wax  red. 

Many  brave  men  have  dread. 

So  fiercely  they  fight. 

Thus  afoot  do  they  fight,  upon  the  fair  field. 

As  fresh  as  two  lions,  that  lack  of  their  fill. 

So,  wise  in  their  ways,  their  weapons  they  wield. 

Wot  ye  well,  that  Sir  Gawain,  he  lacked  not  for  skill! 

Bearing  onward,  his  brand,  beneath  the  broad  shield 

Thro'  the  midst  of  his  body,  his  foe  he  smites  ill. 

The  sword  stayed  for  no  mail,  tho'  well  he  was  steeled. 

The  other  starts  backward,  and  standeth  full  still. 

Yet,  tho'  he  be  stonied,  his  strokes  they  fall  fair  — 

He  strikes  at  Gawain 

Thro'  his  vizor  again 

That  he  'scapes  to  be  slain 

By  the  breadth  of  a  hair. 

[   131   1 


€^e  ^tyantuvie  of  (^vt^ut 

With  swords  raised  aloft  on  the  helmets  they  hew, 
They  beat  down  the  beryls  from  circlets  so  bright, 
(Which  men  with  gems  royal  besprinkle  and  strew)  — 
With  fretwork  of  fine  gold,  that  fails  in  the  fight. 
Their  shields  on  their  shoulders  were  dulled  in  their  hue. 
Strong  fastenings  of  steel,  they  be  cloven  with  might, 
Then  men  curse  the  hour  that  such  bargain  they  drew, 
That  e'er  dints  so  doleful  were  dealt  to  such  knights. 
It  vexed  Arthur  at  heart,  full  sad  waxed  his  mood  — 
Sir  Lot  and  Sir  Lake, 
Mickle  mourning  they  make, 
Gaynore  grieved  for  the  sake 
Of  Sir  Gawain  the  good. 

She  greeteth,  Dame  Gaynore,  with  tears  from  grey  een, 
For  grief  of  Sir  Gawain,  who  grim  wounds  hath  found. 
The  knight  who  was  courteous,  cruel,  and  keen, 
With  a  sharp  sword  of  steel  he  strikes  in  that  stound. 
The  side  of  his  foeman  he  carveth  down  clean. 
All  thro'  the  rich  mails  that  were  well  wrought  and  round, 
Such  a  stroke  in  that  tide  he  taught  him,  I  ween. 
That  he  smiteth  Sir  Galeron,  grovelling,  to  ground. 
Thus,  grovelling  on  ground,  he  doth  groan  on  the  green  — 

Tho'  sore  wounded  he. 

Rose  again,  speedily, 

And  his  foeman  doth  he 

Attack  with  sword  keen. 

[   132  1 


€^i  (^i)iiti(uvte  of  <^tt^uv 

Thus  cruel,  and  keen,  he  strikes  from  on  height, 
With  a  cast  from  the  left  doth  a  cantel  inlay; 
(There  woeful,  but  willing  waits  Gawain,  the  wight), 
Yet  befell  him  the  worse,  as  doth  please  me  alwayl 
He  deemed  thro'  a  feigning  to  slay  him  with  sleight,  — 
The  sword  it  slipped  slant-wise,  sliding  astray, 
Then  Gawain,  by  the  collar,  he  clutches  the  knight. 
His  lady,  aloft,  she  doth  shriek  in  dismay. 
And  crieth  on  Gaynore  in  tones  sharp  and  shrill  — 
'Queen,  peerless  in  might. 

Now,  pity  yon  knight. 

Who  is  dolefully  dight. 

An  it  were  but  thy  will!' 

Then  Waynore,  the  wilful,  to  Arthur  she  went; 

Her  crown  she  cast  off,  and  she  knelt  low  and  still. 

Saying:  'As  thou  be  richest,  most  royal  in  rent. 

And  I  be  thy  wedded  wife,  here,  at  thy  will, 

Yon  knights  who  do  battle  before  us,  on  bent. 

Are  weary,  I  wis,  and  be  wounded  right  ill. 

Cut  thro'  shield  and  through  shoulder,  they  're  shamefully  spent, 

The  groans  of  Sir  Gawain  with  grief  my  heart  fill; 

Sir  Gawain  the  good,  his  groans  grieve  me  sore  — 

Would  ye,  dear  my  lord. 

Set  these  knights  at  accord, 

'T  would  comfort  afford 

To  us  ye  before.' 

[  133  1  : 


Z^t  (^btoenfures  of  ^xt^t 

Sir  Galeron  spake  then  to  Gawain  the  good, 
*I  deemed  never  yet  there  had  been  such  a  knight, 
Now  here  I  release  thee  of  rent,  by  the  rood, 
Before  this  rout  royal  I  yield  thee  my  right. 
And  here  do  thee  homage,  in  mildness  of  mood, 
As  man  who  on  mid-earth  the  most  is  of  might!' 
He  strode  to  the  King  in  that  place  where  he  stood, 
And  proffered  his  brand,  that  was  burnished  and  bright, 
Saying:  'Rental,  and  riches,  of  these  take  release — ' 
Down  kneeled  he  there. 
Spake  those  words  fast  and  fair  — 
Then  the  King  doth  declare 
And  command,  there  be  peace. 

The  King  ordered  peace,  and  with  that  stood  upright, 
Then  Gawain,  the  goodly,  he  ceased  for  his  sake. 
With  that,  lords  so  loyal,  they  leapt  up  full  light, 
Yvain,  Fitz  Urien;  Sir  Erec,  Fitz-Lake; 
Sir  Meliadus,  Sir  Marrok,  mickle  of  might, 
Those  twain,  sorely  travailed,  so  truly  they  take; 
Those  stern  men,  they  scarcely  may  hold  them  upright,; 
For  bruises,  and  blood-letting,  black  hues  they  take. 
Right  black  be  their  hues,  thus  battered  with  brands  — 
Nor  demand  they  delay 
But  their  forward,  that  day, 
'Fore  King  Arthur,  straightway, 
They  swear  with  raised  hand. 

I    134  ] 


€^i  (^iUntuvts  of  (^rf^ur 

*Now  I  give:'  quoth  the  King,  'to  thee,  Gawain,  the  bold, 

Glamorgan's  fair  land,  with  groves  all  of  green. 

The  worship  of  Wales,  in  field,  and  in  wold, 

The  castle  of  Kirfre,  coloured  so  clean. 

And  Hulkersholm  take  thou,  to  have  and  to  hold. 

With  Weyford,  and  Waterford,  walled  towns,  I  ween, 

In  Britain  two  baronies,  with  burgs  so  bold. 

That  right  well  embattled,  and  builded  have  been. 

And  here  "  Duke"  I  name  thee,  and  dub  thee  with  hand  — 

Make  peace  with  yon  knight, 

Who  is  valiant  in  fight. 

Resign  him  thy  right, 

And  yield  him  his  land.* 

*Now  I  give  thee,'  quoth  Gawain,  'without  any  guile, 

That  which  thou  of  chivalry  challenged  me  fair, 

The  Lother,  the  Lemmok,  the  Loynak,  the  Lile, 

Yea,  forsooth,  all  the  country  'twixt  Logher  and  Layre.  ^ 

With  Carrick,  and  Cumnake,  Conynghame,  Kyle, 

To  hold  for  thyself,  and  the  same  to  thine  heir, 

And  pray  of  our  company  be  thou  awhile, 

And  to  the  Round  Table  we 'Id  have  thee  repair. 

And  here  I  invest  thee  in  feoff  at  this  tide  — ' 

The  King  and  the  Queen, 

With  their  good  knights,  I  ween, 

Thro'  wood-ways  so  green. 

To  Carlisle  they  ride. 

[  135  ] 


Z^i  (^i)>in(m^e  of  (^vi^w 

To  Carlisle  hath  the  King  come,  with  brave  knights  and  keen, 
Thro'  green  groves,  the  Round  Table,  with  royal  array, 
Hath  he  held,  and  the  heroes,  sore  wounded  I  ween, 
The  leeches  have  healed,  an  the  sooth  ye  would  say. 
They  cared  for  them  kindly,  the  King  and  the  Queen, 
And  dukes  did  they  dub  them  the  twain  on  one  day  — 
Then  he  wedded  his  lady,  so  gracious,  and  sheen. 
With  gifts,  and  with  treasure,  Sir  Galeron  gay. 
Gawain,  Galeron,  they  be  good  friends  alway  — 

When  he  waxed  whole  and  sound 

Of  the  good  Table  Round, 

Galeron,  at  that  stound, 

Did  they  make  knight,  straightway. 

Then  Waynore  the  Queen,  bade  write  to  the  West, 

And  bade  all  religious  to  read,  and  to  sing. 

The  priests,  the  provincials,  to  pray  were  they  prest, 

A  million  of  masses,  her  mother's  minding. 

Then  book-learned  clerks,  and  of  bishops  the  best. 

Thro'  Britain  so  bold,  they  bade  the  bells  ring  — 

In  Inglewood  Forest,  this  marvel  confest 

Befell,  'neath  holts  hoar,  when  he  hunted,  the  King. 

Of  such  hunting,  I  trow,  men  often  shall  tell  — 

Thus  knights,  true,  and  tried, 

Thro'  the  forest  they  ride, 

With  King  Arthur,  that  tide 

That  this  venture  befell. 


(Ulot^e  (§xt^\ix^ 


ARTHUR'S   DREAM  ' 

Royal,  the  King  rehearsed  these  words  anon: 
*Make  revel,  and  rejoice,  for  Rome  is  won! 
At  ease  make  hostages  of  nobles  high, 
Those  of  mine  host,  entreat  them  fittingly, 
Emperor  of  Almayne,  and  the  Eastern  bound, 
Overlord  I,  of  all  on  earth  that's  found! 
By  Holy-Cross-tide  we'll  o'er  these  lands  holds  sway 
At  Rome  be  crowned  King  on  Christmas  Day! 
My  vassals  calling.  Table  Round  I'll  hold. 
The  rents  of  Rome  be  at  my  bidding  told  — 
Gathering  my  men,  I  '11  get  me  o'er  the  sea, 
To  'venge  His  death,  who  died  on  rood  for  me.* 
This  comely  King,  as  chronicles  now  say. 
With  a  blithe  heart,  to  bed  did  take  his  way, 
His  girdle  slackened,  slips  his  robes  withal. 
For  sloth  of  slumber  soon  asleep  doth  fall. 
But,  passed  the  midnight  hour,  his  mood  doth  change. 
Morn  brings  a  dream  both  marvellous  and  strange, 
And  when  that  dreadful  dream  to  end  was  sped 
The  King,  for  doubt  he  deemed  him  well  nigh  dead: 
Sends  for  his  sages,  doth  his  terror  own  — 

[  139  ] 


(morf«  ^vtHtt 


'Since  I  was  formed  such  fright  I  ne'er  have  known! 

Now  search  out  speedily,  my  vision  read, 

Right  readily  will  I  rehearse  the  deed  — 

Methought  in  woodland  wild  was  I  astray, 

And  wist  not  whither  I  should  take  my  way, 

For  wolves,  wild  swine,  and  wicked  beasts,  methought, 

Walked  in  that  wilderness,  my  harm  sought; 

And  loathly  lions,  from  their  teeth  so  white 

Did  lick  the  blood  of  many  a  loyal  knight. 

I  thro'  the  forest  fled,  where  flowers  waxed  high, 

For  fear  of  the  foul  things  I  did  espy; 

I  gained  a  meadow,  mountains  closed  it  in. 

None  merrier  on  mid-earth  a  man  might  win; 

Enclosed  it  was,  encompassed  all  around. 

While  freshest  herbs  and  clover  clad  the  ground, 

And  round  the  vale  were  silver  vines,  I  ween, 

With  grapes  of  gold,  greater  I  ne'er  have  seen! 

And  set  with  arbours,  and  all  kinds  of  tree. 

And  gardens  good,  and  birds,  I  there  did  see. 

And  all  the  fruit  that  earth  for  food  doth  bear 

On  ordered  hedges,  freely  flourished  there. 

No  dew,  down-dropping,  for  their  harm  might  lie 

Thro'  the  day's  drought  the  flowerets  all  were  dry. 

In  that  fair  dale,  down  from  the  clouds,  did  'light 

In  diapered  weeds,  a  duchess  duly  dight, 

In  silken  surcoat,  changely  hued,  and  made, 

Down  to  the  hems  with  broideries  o'er-laid, 

[  140  1 


(TJlotfe  @tf^uw 


Yard-long  the  lappets  there  ye  might  behold, 
Lined  and  reversed  with  ribbons  all  of  gold; 

;  Brooches  and  besants,  of  bright  stones  a  store, 
Her  robe,  at  back  and  breast,  they  studded  o'er. 
With  coif  and  coronal  arrayed  so  fair 
None  with  her  colour  comely  might  compare. 
A  wheel  she  whirled  with  these  her  hands  so  white, 
In  fashion  quaint  she  turned  it  as  she  might; 
Red  gold  the  rowel,  with  royal  stones  inlaid. 
With  rubies  red,  and  jewels  fair  arrayed. 
Splendid,  the  spokes  with  silvern  rays  they  shone, 
A  spear-length  from  the  centre  sprang  each  one. 
Thereon  a  chair  of  silver  gleaming  bright 
Carbuncle's  changing  hues  thereon  gave  light, 
And  to  that  wheel  arow,  see,  kings  do  cling 
Each  with  a  crown  that  doth  asunder  spring; 
Six  from  that  seat  had  fallen  suddenly. 
Each,  by  himself,  these  words  spake  mournfully: 

"That  e'er  I  ruled  a  realm,  it  rues  me  now. 
No  king  so  rich  e'er  reigned  on  earth,  I  trow; 
Whenas  in  rout  I  rode,  I  recked  for  naught 
Save  riot  and  revelry,  o'er  ransom  brought,. 
Thus  did  I  spend  my  days  till  life  was  past, ' 
And  thus  full  drearily,  am  damned  at  last.'* 
A  little  man,  the  first,  who  lay  below, 
Lean  in  the  loin,  and  loathly  all  to  show, 
Grey  were  his  locks,  a  yard-length  long,  I  ween, 

I  141   ] 


(ttlotk  (^tihtt 


His  flesh  and  body  handled  ill  had  been. 
Brighter  that  hero's  eyes  than  silver  white, 
Else,  as  an  egg's  yolk,  yellow  he  to  sight. 

"  Lord  was  I, "  quoth  that  man  "  of  lands  enow, 
All  folk  on  earth  did  to  my  bidding  bow, 
No  rag  for  covering  now  is  left  to  me 
But  lost  am  I,  as  ye  may  surely  see!" 
The  second  sire  who  followed  on  that  knight, 
Sadder  in  arms,  more  steadfast  to  my  sight, 
Suffering,  he  sighed,  and  spake  these  words  to  me: 

"As  lord  and  sovereign  did  I  rule  yon  sea. 
Ladies  to  lock  me  in  their  arms  were  fain, 
Now  is  my  lordship  lost  in  endless  pain." 
The  third,  of  shoulders  broad,  stalwart  and  strong, 
111  man  to  threaten  there  where  folk  might  throng. 
Dropped  was  his  diadem,  with  stones  so  bright. 
Inset  with  diamonds  as  erstwhile  dight  — 
In  diverse  realms,"  he  spake,  "  men  did  me  dread. 
Now  for  my  dole  I'm  damned  among  the  dead." 
The  fourth,  a  fair  man  he,  of  force  in  fight, 
No  fairer  figure  e'er  was  formed  to  sight; 
Fierce  for  the  Faith  was  I  whiles  I  had  power, 
In  far  lands  famed,  and  of  all  kings  the  flower, 
Faded,  alas,  my  face,  and  foul  my  lot. 
Fallen  from  high,  and  friendless,  and  forgot!" 
Fairer  the  fifth  to  see  than  others  all. 
Forceful  and  fierce,  his  lips  they  foamed  withal, 

[   142  ] 


« 


(ttLoxk  ^tt^tt 


With  all  his  might  a  spoke  he  gripped  right  well, 
But  yet  he  failed,  full  fifty  feet  he  fell, 
And  sprang  again,  straining  with  arms  outspread, " 
Gripping  the  spear-length  spokes  these  words  he  said; 

"  In  Syria  sire,  alone  I  bare  command, 
Sov'reign  and  seigneur  of  full  many  a  land. 
Now  from  my  solace  fallen  suddenly, 
For  this  my  sin,  yon  seat  is  reft  from  me!" 
The  sixth,  a  psalter  in  fair  binding  bare, 
In  silken  cover  sewn,  and  broidered  fair, 
A  harp  and  sling  with  flint  stones  he  displayed, 
Plaint  of  his  griefs,  I  trow,  full  soon  he  made: 

"Men  deemed  me  in  my  days,  for  deeds  so  bold, 
One  of  the  doughtiest  men  e'er  found  on  mold. 
But  in  my  greatest  strength  she  wrought  my  fall. 
This  maiden  mild,  who  here  doth  move  us  all." 
Two  kings  were  climbing,  clambering  on  high. 
The  crest  that  crowned  the  wheel  fain  to  come  nigh, 

"  In  days  to  come  this  chair,  its  gems  of  worth. 
We'll  challenge,  as  the  chief  est  men  on  earth." 
Chalk-white  those  knights  in  cheek,  I  trow,  and  fair. 
But  tho'  they  strove  they  ne'er  achieved  that  chair. 
The  first,  with  forehead  broad,  was  fair  to  see. 
Never  a  knight  of  fairer  face  than  he, 
Robed  in  rich  raiment  of  a  noble  blue, 
And  flowered  with  fleur-de-lys  of  golden  hue. 
Clad  was  the  other  all  in  silver  clean, 

[  143   ] 


(tflotk  (gvt^nti 


With  comely  carven  cross,  of  golden  sheen, 
Four  crosslets  craftily  the  cross  surround 
Whereby  that  King,  I  trow,  was  Christian  found.' 
Then  did  I  go  my  way,  that  maid  to  greet, 
"Welcome,  I  wis!"  quoth  she,  "  't  is  well  we  meet, 
Of  all  the  men  who,  valiant,  lived  below. 
My  will  shouldst  worship,  if  thou  didst  but  know; 
In  war  thy  worship  all  was  won  thro'  me. 
With  friendly  favours  have  I  prospered  thee. 
Thou,  and  thy  men,  have  found,  i'  faith,  my  might, 
'T  was  I  felled  Frollo,  with  his  froward  knights, 
Therefore  the  fruits  of  France  to  thee  are  free. 
Thou  shalt  achieve  the  chair,  chosen  by  me, 
Above  Earth's  chosen  chieftains  shalt  thou  be!'* 
With  slender  hands  lightly  she  lifted  me, 
Sceptre  in  hand,  she  set  me  in  the  chair, 
Then  with  a  comb  she  lightly  combed  my  hair, 
That  the  crisp  curls  were  from  the  crown  outspread, 
A  diadem,  fair  dight,  set  on  my  head; 
Then  offered  me  an  orb,  where  bright  stones  shone. 
Azure  enamelled,  pictured  was  thereon 
The  earth,  with  the  salt  sea  encircled  round. 
In  sign  that  I  was  Sire  and  Sovereign  found. 
A  brand  she  brought  me  with  a  hilt  so  bright, 
Bade  me  to  wield  the  blade  —  "  'T  is  mine  of  right 
And  many  with  its  blow  have  lost  their  life, 
Whiles  thou  didst  strive,  it  failed  thee  not  in  strife!" 

[   144  ] 


QUor^e  (^rf^ure 


Swift  sped  she  with  the  wheel,  as  seemed  her  good, 

Unto  the  thickets  of  that  wondrous  wood, 

No  prince  on  earth  such  orchard  sure  might  own, 

So  proud  was  planted  Paradise  alone! 

She  bade  the  boughs  bend  down,  and  give  me  there 

The  best  that  on  their  branches  high  they  bare; 

At  her  behest,  with  one  consent  did  bow 

The  highest  branches  in  that  wood,  I  trow. 

She  bade  me  pluck  the  fruit,  nor  sparing  be, 

"O!  valiant  knight,  the  fruits  to  thee  are  free, 
Reach  to  the  ripest,  glut  thyself  thereon, 
Rejoice  right  royally,  for  Rome  is  won! 
I  '11  whirl  the  wheel  as  best  shall  profit  thee. 
Rich  wine,  in  cups  well  rinsed,  I'll  reach  to  thee!" 
Then  went  she  to  the  well  beside  the  wood. 
From  whence  the  wine  gushed  forth,  a  wondrous  flood, 
Caught  up  a  cup-full,  covered  it  full  fair, 
And  bade  me  deeply  drink,  and  pledge  her  there. 
Thus  for  an  hour  she  led  me  to  and  fro 
With  all  the  love  and  liking  maid  might  show; 
But  at  the  midday,  lo!  her  mood  did  change 
To  menace  marvellous,  and  words  full  strange. 
When  I  upon  her  cried,  she  knit  her  brow; 

"  By  Christ  who  made  me,  King,  be  silent  now! 
Sped  is  thy  sport,  thy  life  shalt  lose,  I  trow. 
In  lordship  and  delight  hast  lived  enow!" 
About  she  whirls  the  wheel,  and  I,  withal, 

[[   145   1 


(TUotfe  (^xi^MU 


Whirled  undermost,  was  shattered  with  the  fall. 
My  chin  was  chopped  asunder  with  the  chair, 
For  chill  I've  shivered  since  I  so  must  fare, 
Then,  all  dream-weary,  did  I  wake,  I  wis  — 
Read  thou  my  woe,  and  say  what  meaneth  this!* 
'Lord,'  quoth  the  sages,  'Fortune  faileth  thee, 
Thy  foe  shalt  find  her  wheresoe'er  thou  be. 
Hast  climbed  thy  highest,  naught  remains  in  store, 
Trow  us,  no  challenge  thou  achievest  more. 
Much  blood  hast  shed,  much  sinless  folk  hast  slain 
Thro'  this,  thy  pride,  in  many  a  king's  domain. 
Now  shrive  thee  of  thy  shame,  shape  well  thy  part. 
Forewarned  art  thou,  O  King!  lay  it  to  heart. 
In  France  found  abbeys,  thine  the  fruits  to  hold, 
For  Frollo,  Ferraunt,  and  their  fierce  knights  bold. 
Thro'  thee,  a  stranger  here  in  France,  they  fell  — 
By  those  kings  be  thou  warned,  and  ponder  well 
Who,  conquerors  acclaimed,  on  earth  bare  crown  — 
First,  Alexander,  to  whom  all  bowed  down; 
Hector  of  Troy,  champion  in  chivalry; 
Next  Julius  Csesar,  held  for  giant  he. 
In  journeys  gentle,  judged  by  lords  aright; 
The  fourth.  Sir  Judas,  a  right  noble  knight. 
Masterful  Maccabee,  mighty  in  field; 
Then  Joshua,  who  arms  did  joyful  wield, 
And  in  Jerusalem  had  joy  for  share  — 
The  sixth  dear  David,  of  all  kings  that  were 

[   146  ] 


(morfe  (^tthti 


One  of  the  doughtiest  is  he  deemed  aright, 

For  with  a  sling  he  slew,  by  skilful  sleight, 

Goliath  great,  a  giant  grim  to  meet, 

And  in  his  days  indited  psalms  so  sweet. 

Now  in  the  Psalter  set  with  words  full  fair  — 

Those  climbing  kings  I  now,  in  sooth,  declare. 

The  first  is  Carolus,  who  France  shall  hold. 

He  shall  be  cruel  and  keen,  a  conqueror  bold. 

Countries  by  conquest  shall  he  win  enow 

And  gain  the  Crown  Christ  ware  upon  His  brow; 

And  that  same  lance,  that  leapt  unto  His  heart 

When  on  the  Cross  He  hung,  with  nails'  sore  smart, 

Knightly,  for  Christendom  he  shall  regain. 

Godfrey,  the  other,  who  shall  'venge  God's  pain 

Upon  Good  Friday,  with  his  gallant  knights, 

The  lord  he  of  Lorraine  by  father-right, 

Shall  in  Jerusalem  have  joy  for  meed,  — 

Recovering  the  Cross  by  knightly  deed, 

With  chrisom  anointed,  shall  as  king  be  crowned  — 

No  duke  hath  in  his  days  such  destiny  found 

Nor  known  such  grief  thro'  testing  of  the  truth  — 

Fortune  doth  fetch  thee  to  fulfil,  in  sooth. 

Their  number,  nine  all  told,  of  noblest  name, 

Writ  in  romance  shall  be  for  knightly  fame; 

Renowned  and  reckoned  kings  of  royal  meed 

And  judged  on  Doomsday,  for  their  doughty  deeds, 

(The  doughtiest  they,  of  all  on  earth  who  dwell)  — 

[   147  ] 


(nioxk  (^xi^uu 


For  kings  and  clerks  shall  of  your  doings  tell, 

Your  conquests  keep  in  chronicle  for  aye. 

The  woodland  wolves,  and  the  wild  beasts,  now  they 

Be  wicked  men,  who  waste  and  worry  all 

Thy  realm,  thou  absent,  on  thy  folk  they  fall, 

Aliens,  and  men  from  distant  lands  they  be  — 

Within  ten  days  shall  tidings  come  to  thee 

Of  mischief  chanced  since  thou  afar  didst  fare; 

Make  no  delay,  thy  deeds  of  ill  declare 

Or  thy  rash  works  thou  shalt  repent  withal. 

Man,  mend  thy  mood  ere  mischief  thee  befall, 

And  meek,  for  thy  soul's  meed,  for  mercy  call.* 

THE  DEATH  OF  GAWAIN 

Gone  is  Sir  Gawain!  his  good  fight  is  o'er 
No  man  may  aid  him,  pity  't  is  the  morel 
Gone  is  Sir  Gawain!  who  did  rule  aright. 
From  Gower  to  Guernsey,  many  a  noble  knight, 
Wales'  and  Glamorgan's  gallant  knights  and  true 
For  sorrow  'stonied,  joy  no  more  they  knew. 
Swift  turned  King  Frederick,  and  fair  and  free 
Asked  of  that  traitor  who  the  knight  should  be: 
*In  thy  fair  kingdom,  say,  this  knight  didst  know? 
Of  what  race  he  be  sprung  swift  to  me  show; 
What  knight  was  he  who  bare  those  arms  so  gay. 
The  golden  griHin,  thou  but  now  didst  slay? 
Greatly  he  grieved  us,  so  God  help  me  now, 

I   148  ] 


(tJXotU  (^rf^ure 


Smote  down  our  good  men,  did  us  harm  enow, 
Sternest  in  strife  of  those  who  steel  might  wield 
Our  folk  he  'stonied,  scared  them  from  the  field.' 
Sir  Mordred  answered  him  with  speech  full  fair: 
'Matchless  on  mold  that  man  was  reckoned  e'er, 
That  was  Sir  Gawain  good,  the  gladdest  knight 
And  the  most  gracious  to  whom  God  gave  light. | 
Happiest  in  arms,  the  hardiest  of  his  hand, 
In  hall  most  courteous  who  'neath  Heaven  did  stand. 
The  while  he  lived  as  lordliest  leader  known 
And  many  lands  his  lion  courage  own. 
Hadst  thou  but  known  him.  King,  in  other  days  — 
His  knowledge,  knighthood,  all  his  kindly  ways, 
For  this,  his  doughtiness,  and  deeds  so  fair 
Dole  for  his  death  thro'  all  thy  days  shouldst  share!' 
Therewith  that  traitor's  tears  fall  fast  as  rain. 
Swift  turned  aside,  he  speaketh  not  again. 
But  weeping,  went  his  way,  and  curseth  still 
The  hour  he  wrought  the  deed  that  worked  such  ill. 
And,  thinking  on  this  thing,  his  heart,  it  aches. 
Sighing  for  kinship's  blood  his  way  he  takes, 
For  when  that  renegade  remembrance  found. 
Recalled  the  reverence  of  the  Table  Round, 
Repentance  sore,  and  ruth,  were  his  that  tide  — 
Away  he  rode,  nor  longer  would  he  bide. 
For  dread  of  our  King's  coming  doth  he  ride 
To  Cornwall,  heavy-hearted,  mourning  sore 
The  kinsman  lying  dead  upon  the  shore. 


Ck(xnnt0& 


CkanntBB 

BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST 

Belshazzar  bold  bethought  him  on  a  tide 
Vainglorious,  to  vaunt  his  power  and  pride  — 
('T  is  not  enow  the  sinner  sinful  be 
Save  all  the  world  his  wickedness  shall  see!)  — 
Thro'  Babylon  Belshazzar  cried  his  ban, 
I  Thro'  Chaldea's  country  swift,  the  call,  it  ran, 
From  near  and  far  his  nobles,  gathering  all, 
On  a  set  day  should  seek  the  Soudan's  hall; 
For  such  a  feast  that  man  was  fain  to  make 
Thither  each  kingdom's  king  his  way  should  take, 
That  each  duke,  dutiful,  and  lord  so  dear, 
Should  loyally  to  his  liege  lord  draw  near. 
To  render  reverence,  his  revels  share. 
Look  on  his  lemans,  and  his  ladies  fair. 
Rich  men,  to  praise  his  royalty  they  sought, 
And  barons  bold  to  Babylon  were  brought, 
Yea,  many  a  band  to  Babylon  was  bound, 
Kaisers  and  kings  within  that  court  are  found, 
Lords  of  the  land  with  ladies  thither  throng 
To  name  their  number  were  a  task  too  long. 
So  broad  it  was  the  burg,  so  big  and  high. 
Stood  in  a  fair  space  'neath  the  starry  sky, 

I  153  ] 


CkanuBB 


Proud  on  a  plain  't  was  placed  in  goodly  state, 
Swept  on  each  side  by  seven  waters  great. 
Its  walls,  so  wondrous  wrought,  it  high  doth  rear 
Begirt  with  battlements  in  carving  clear; 
Turreted  towers,  each  twenty  spears  apart 
While  palls  are  proudly  flung  those  walls  athwart. 
The  palace  proud,  where  pursuivants  do  fare, 
Was  long  and  large,  and  all  alike  foursquare; 
Each  side  on  soil  was  seven  miles  long,  I  ween, 
Set  in  the  midst  the  Soudan's  seat  was  seen. 
In  pride  that  palace  passed  the  others  all 
Alike  in  work,  in  wonder,  and  in  wall; 
For  houses  high  within  that  hall  had  place 
Broad  built  in  bay,  wherein  a  horse  might  race. 
Whenas  it  touched  the  term  the  feast  was  set, 
Thither  the  dukes  were  drawn,  on  dais  met;  / 
Belshazzar  busked  him  for  the  board  anon. 
Bright  shone  the  stones  of  this,  his  stately  throne; 
That  goodly  hall,  it  held  full  many  a  knight. 
And  barons  bold  were  at  the  side-boards  dight. 
Dressed  was  the  dai's  for  the  monarch's  might 
And  for  his  concubines  in  costume  bright; 
Swift  all  in  seat  they  set,  to  serve  begin, 
Loud  blares  the  trumpet  blast  the  burg  within, 
With  ringing  notes  the  roof  and  walls  resound, 
Broad  banners,  gleaming  golden,  droop  around. 
The  bread  on  dishes  broad  on  high  they  bear 

[  154  ] 


CUanMBB 


Silver  to  sight,  I  trow,  and  served  full  fair, 

As  lofty  lodges  lifted,  carven  high, 

Pared  out  of  paper,  gilded  cunningly, 

With  fierce  baboons  above,  and  beasts  below, 

And  fowls  that  flit  between  in  fluttering  row. 

In  ynde  and  azure  't  was  enamelled  fair  — 

A  steed,  this  burden  on  his  back  he  bare. 

The  drums  make  noise  enow,  the  pipe's  shrill  note, 

Timbrel  and  tabor  mingling,  tinkling  float, 

While  cymbals,  sonorous,  respond  withal  — 

Men  busk  them  busily  about  the  hall. 

So  with  swift  service  do  they  set  the  board, 

Solace,  with  diverse  course,  that  self-same  lord 

Who,  with  his  loves,  the  feast  doth  linger  o'er  — 

Of  wine  that  warmed  his  heart  too  fast  they  pour, 

The  fumes  breathe  on  his  brain,  embroil  his  mind. 

Weakening  his  wit,  to  folly  all  inclined; 

His  wandering  looks  his  ladies  fair  behold, 

His  hall,  beset  with  baronage  so  bold, 

Therewith  a  dotage  deep  to  his  head  drave 

A  caitif  counsel  to  himself  he  gave; 

Loudly,  as  master,  doth  his  marshal  call, 

Commands  the  coffers  he  unclose  withal. 

Fetch  forth  the  vessels  that  his  father  bore  — 

(Nebuchadnezzar,  noble  king,  of  yore  — ) 

Reft  from  the  kirk,  when,  with  his  conquering  knights 

Jerusalem  and  Judah  felt  his  might. 

[  155  1 


CUanMBB 

'Now  bring  them  to  my  board,  for  beverage  clear 
These  dames  shall  drink  therefrom,  whom  I  hold  dear, 
By  customs  courteous  they  soon  shall  see 
None  like  Belshazzar  bounteous  may  bel' 
They  tell  the  treasurer  the  King's  behest. 
With  keys  he  doth  unclose  full  many  a  chest, 
To  hall  they  bear  full  many  a  burthen  bright, 
Covered  the  cupboards  are  with  cloths  so  white, 
Gems  of  Jerusalem,  and  jewels  gay, 
A  seemly  sight,  that  hall's  sides  now  array; 
The  brazen  altar  do  they  set  in  place, 
Above,  the  crown  of  gold  in  gleaming  grace. 
That  which  by  bishop's  hands  had  once  been  blest. 
Anointed  with  the  blood  of  beasts,  the  best 
For  solemn  sacrifice,  —  With  savour  good 
'Fore  Heaven's  high  lord,  in  praise  erst-while  it  stood, 
Now  is  it  set  to  serve  Satan,  the  black, 
And  bold  Belshazzar,  who  no  boast  doth  lack. 
High  on  the  altar  noble  vessels  see, 
With  curious  craft  all  carven  cunningly, 
Solomon  set  him,  seven  years  and  more. 
With  all  the  Lord  had  lent  to  him  of  lore. 
To  fix  their  form,  and  have  them  wrought  full  fair,  — 
Basins  so  bright  of  burnished  gold  were  there. 
Azure  enamelled,  ewers  to  match  them  all. 
And  covered  cups,  fashioned  as  castle  wall, 
Builded  'neath  battlements,  in  pillared  wise, 

I   156  ] 


CitanMBB 


And  formed  in  figures  of  the  strangest  guise. 
And  every  cup  a  tapering  cover  crowned, 
Right  featly  fashioned  as  with  turrets  round, 
While  pinnacles  appear  in  place  between, 
Branches  and  leaves  embossed,  above  are  seen, 
And  pies,  and  popinjays,  upon  each  bough. 
Who  at  pomegranates  proudly  peck,  I  trow. 
Each  bud  on  bough  was  glistening  pearl  and  white, 
And  every  fruit  a  jewel,  flaming  bright. 
Sapphire  and  sardonyx,  and  topaz  shine, 
Amethyst,  emerald,  alabaunderryne, 
Cassydrine,  chrysolite,  and  ruby  red, 
Peridot,  pinkardine,  'twixt  pearls  are  spread; 
So,  twined  and  twisted,  doth  the  fair  design 
Bold,  on  the  border  of  each  beaker  shine. 
Golden  the  goblets  all,  and  graven  fair; 
The  vials  a  fretwork  fine  of  flowerets  bare, 
Upon  the  altar,  see,  they  stand  anon  — 
The  candlestick  men  carry  thither  soon. 
Upon  the  pillar  poised,  that  many  praise, 
The  brazen  base  the  work  on  high  doth  raise. 
Bright  were  its  branches  all,  of  golden  sheen, 
With  spreading  boughs,  and  birds  inset  between, 
Of  many  kinds  and  manifold  in  hue 
E'en  as  on  wind  with  feathered  wing  they  flew. 
And  in  among  the  leaves  the  lamps  shone  bright, 
Full  fair  it  gleamed  with  many  a  lovely  light. 

[  157  ] 


CkanntsB 


Many  the  mortars  were,  the  wax  to  hold, 
Wroughten  as  burly  beasts  of  burnished  gold; 
It  was  not  wont  its  tapers  there  to  waste 
That  erst  the  temple  of  the  true  God  graced, 
Before  the  shrine  ' Sancta  Sanctorum'  shone 
Where  God,  by  speech,  unto  His  seers  was  known. 
I  Thou  may'st  believe  the  Lord  who  rules  the  sky 
Had  little  pleasure  in  such  pleasantry. 
That  Gentiles,  these.  His  gems,  should  so  defile 
That  in  His  presence  precious  were  somewhile 
For  solemn  sacrifice,  anointed  yet 
E'en  at  His  summons  who  on  high  was  set; 
Now  on  the  bench  a  boaster  from  them  sups, 
And,  as  the  devil  drunk,  dotes  in  his  cups. 
Then  He  who  wrought  the  world,  waxed  wroth  withal 
And,  at  their  pleasure's  point,  purveys  a  fall. 
But  ere,  in  haste  and  ire,  He  harm  hath  wrought 
Warning  He  gave,  which  they  a  wonder  thought. 
His  goodly  gear  is  got  for  gluttons'  game, 
In  setting  rich,  and  brightly  starred  with  flame  — 
Belshazzar  bold,  doth  bid  them  in  this  wise  — 
'Serve  vintage  in  these  vessels!'  thus  he  cries. 
And  swift  the  swains  do  at  his  summons  spring. 
Clasp  cup  in  hand,  to  carry  to  each  king. 
Each,  eager,  waiteth  on  his  master's  will. 
The  bowls  so  bright,  with  wine  they  swiftly  fill, 
Rich  metal,  touching  metal,  rang  full  loud 

[   158  ] 


CUannteB 

As  men  to  catch  the  cups  together  crowd, 

Clashing,  the  maids  the  covers  cast  away, 

As  song  from  psaltery  ring  the  sounds  so  gay. 

The  fool  on  dais  set,  he  drank  his  fill. 

The  dukes  and  princes,  dressed  in  order  still, 

Knights,  concubines,  mirthful  and  merry  all. 

The  cup  each  held  he  drained  to  dregs  withal. 

Long  drank  the  lords  of  these  same  liquors  sweet, 

Their  false  gods  glorify,  their  grace  entreat. 

That  were  of  stocks  and  stones,  silent  for  aye. 

No  voice  may  reach  them,  deaf  and  dumb  are  they! 

All  their  good  gods  of  gold  by  name  they  call, 

Belfegor,  Beliel,  Beelzebub  — Yea  all! 

Honoured  them  highly  as  in  Heaven  they  sat 

But  God  who  all  good  gives.  Him  they  forgat! 

Then  lo!  the  folk  behold  a  sight  of  fear 

Made  first  to  King,  then  to  his  courtiers  clear. 

Within  the  palace,  plain  upon  the  wall. 

Where  clear  the  light  of  candlestick  did  fall, 

Appeared  a  palm  with  pointel,  form  of  fright, 

'Grisly  and  great,  and  grimly  did  it  write! 

Naught  but  a  fist,  failing  the  wrist  alway. 

Plain  on  the  plaster  letters  doth  portray. 

When  bold  Belshazzar  saw  the  hand  that  stead 

Fear  smote  his  heart,  all  dazed  was  he  with  dread. 

His  cheeks  they  paled,  and  past  is  all  his  cheer. 

His  joints  are  strained  at  that  strange  stroke  and  drear, 

[  159  ] 


CUanMBB 


His  knees  together  knock,  close  cling  his  thighs, 
Beating  his  palms,  he  stares  in  sore  surprise, 
Howls  as  a  mad  dog  doth  for  dread  withal 
Watching  the  while  the  writing  on  the  wall. 
E'en  so  the  hand  the  runes  wrote  rough,  and  then, 
When  it  had  scratched  the  script  with  pointed  pen 
Like  as  a  plough-share  furrows  carves  in  clay 
Straight  from  their  sight  it  vanished  swift  away. 
But  large  the  letters  loomed  on  plaster  there  —  , 
Soon  as  the  King  might  speak  for  stress  of  care 
He  sent  with  speed  unto  his  sages  all 
To  read  aright  what  there  was  writ  on  wall. 

'My  flesh  doth  creep  those  fingers  grim  before  — * 
Scholars  to  find  the  skill,  they  vex  them  sore. 
But  ne'er  was  one  so  wise  those  words  to  wit 
Nor  tell  what  lore  or  language  there  was  writ. 
What  tale  or  tidings  should  betokened  be  — 
Then  bold  Belshazzar,  well  nigh  mad  was  he, 
Bade  thro'  the  city  seek  for  seers,  who  bare 
Repute  for  witchcraft,  wise  as  wizards  were, 
To  deal  with  devilry-diviners  fair  — 

*  All  that  be  clerks  unto  my  court  now  call, 
Make  known  the  marvel  that  doth  here  befall. 
Call  loudly:     He  who  to  the  King  makes  known 
And  doth  expound  in  speech  what  here  is  shown^ 
Doth  make  the  matter  melt  my  mind  within 
That  I  the  wit  oj  this  same  writing  win,  '. 

[  i6o  ] 


CkanntBB 


In  purple  gown,  and  gear  so  gay,  shall  fare, 
A  golden  collar  round  his  throat  shall  bear, 
Primate  and  prince  of  all  my  clerks  is  he, 
'  And  of  my  noblest  lords  the  third  shall  be; 
The  richest  of  my  realm,  with  me  to  ride, 
And,  save  two  only,  shall  be  third  in  pride. ''^ ' 
The  cry  was  raised,  and  thither  straight  they  came, 
Clerks  of  Chaldea,  known  for  wisdom's  fame, 
'As  satraps  sage,  in  sorcery  well  skilled; 
Witches  and  warlocks  soon  the  hall  have  filled. 
Diviners,  versed  in  magic,  dreams  to  read. 
Sorcerers,  exorcists,  they  thither  speed, 
All  on  those  letters  looked,  and  stood  amazed, 
As  they  on  leather  of  my  left  boot  gazed ! 
The  King,  he  cried  aloud,  his  robes  he  tore, 
Lo!  how  he  cursed  his  clerks  for  churls,  and  swore 
Full  oft,  that  he  would  hang  the  harlots  high  — 
So  witless  was  the  wight,  to  madness  nigh. 
The  chief  Queen,  in  her  chamber,  heard  him  chide; 
Whenas  the  tidings  true  were  told  that  tide 
E'en  of  that  changing  chance  in  the  chief  hall, 
The  lady,  her  lord's  loss  to  cure  withal. 
Stately  descends  the  steps,  the  King  doth  seek. 
On  cold  earth  kneeling,  careful,  thus  doth  speak, 
In  words  of  worship,  wisely  framed,  I  trow:  — 
'Great  King,'  so  quoth  the  Queen,  'earth's  Kaiser  thou, 
Long  last  thy  life,  be  length  of  days  thy  meed, 

[  i6i  ] 


CitanMBB 


Why  hast  thou  rent  thy  robe  for  lack  of  rede 
Because  this  folk  these  letters  failed  to  scan, 
And  hast  within  thine  hold,  I  've  heard,  a  man 
Inspired  by  God's  own  Spirit,  source  of  sooth. 
Fulfilled  with  science  to  shew  forth  the  truth. 
Reveal  each  hidden  thing,  each  venture  wild? 
Full  oft  he  checked,  with  holy  speech  and  mild, 
Thy  father's  anger  hot,  and  counsel  caught. 
To  tell  Nebuchadnezzar's  troubled  thought; 
His  dreams  divining,  did  the  truth  translate, 
By  counsel  covered  him  from  cruel  fate. 
All  speired  of  him,  in  speech,  he  told  full  well, 
Sped  by  the  Spirit,  which  did  in  him  dwell, 
Of  the  great  God,  who  ruleth  evermore. 
For  deep  divinity,  and  for  dread  lore. 
Thy  father  bold  him  Belteshazzar  named. 
As  Daniel,  dread  diviner,  is  he  famed; 
In  Judah's  country  was  he  captive  caught, 
And  hither  by  Nabuzaradan  brought, 
A  prophet  of  that  province,  this  world's  praise  — 
Now  to  the  city  send,  seek  thro'  its  ways. 
With  worship  win  him  to  thy  will  withal  — 
Tho'  dark  the  matter  marked  upon  the  wall 
He  shall  declare  it  as  't  were  wrought  in  clay  — ' 
This,  the  Queen's  counsel,  do  they  take  straightway, 
Unto  Belshazzar  soon  the  man  they  bring, 
Saluting  low,  he  stood  before  the  King; 

[   162  ] 


CkatiMBB 


Belshazzar  swiftly  spake:  'Good  Sir,'  quoth  he, 
*  By  tidings  told  me  thou  in  truth  shalt  be 
Prophet,  from  realms  he  raided  once  of  yore, 
My  father,  in  thine  heart  is  holy  lore, 
Thou  hast  the  science  hidden  sooth  to  show- 
God's  Spirit  guides  thee,  who  doth  secrets  know, 
T'  unveil  the  things  that  Heaven's  high  King  doth  hide  - 
A  marvel  we  behold,  and  I,  this  tide 
What  there  on  wall  is  writ  were  fain  to  know, 
Which  all  called  clerks  have,  cowardly,  failed  to  shew; 
Can'st  conquer  it  with  cunning,  I  '11  thee  'quit. 
If  thou  dost  read  aright  what  there  is  writ, 
First  tell  me  of  this  text,  what  it  may  be. 
And  then  its  meaning  shalt  make  known  to  me, 
I  '11  keep  the  covenant  I  did  declare, 
Robe  thee  in  purple  cloth,  and  pall  most  fair. 
Place  round  thy  neck  a  ring  of  gold  so  bright. 
In  this,  my  kingdom  make  thee  third  in  might. 
Baron  on  bench,  no  less  thy  boon  shall  be!' 
Then  thus  spake  Daniel,  straight,  and  speedily: 
'Rich  King  of  royal  realm,  God  counsel  bring, 
For  sooth  it  is,  the  Sovereign  Lord  and  King 
Sustained  thy  father  in  his  high  estate, 
Did  grant  him  o'er  all  governors  to  be  great. 
That  all  the  world  he  wielded  at  his  will,  — 
To  whom  God  willeth  well  he  prospers  still, 
Whose  death  He  doth  desire,  done  are  His  days; 

[   163   ] 


CUamtBB 


Whom  the  Lord  would  uplift,  He  light  doth  raise, ' 
And  whom  He  would  abase  is  laid  full  low  — 
Nebuchadnezzar's  fate  this  same  doth  show  — 
Stablished  his  kingdom  stood  in  God  so  strong, 
His  heart  upon  the  Highest  hoped  full  long. 
That,  from  that  Prince  alone,  all  power  passed  — 
While  close  in  heart  he  held  that  counsel  fast 
To  match  His  might  there  was  no  man  on  mould;  — 
Then  there  befell  a  time  he  waxed  o'er  bold, 
For  this,  his  lordship  large,  his  life  so  high. 
His  own  deeds,  loomed  so  large  before  his  eye, 
That  he  forgat  the  high  Prince,  and  His  power, 
And  boastings  blasphemous  on  God  would  shower. 
His  might  with  God's  would  measure,  saying  still  — 

"The  God,  I  of  this  ground,  to  guide  at  will. 
As  He  who,  high  in  Heaven,  His  rule  doth  wield;  — ' 
If  He  hath  formed  the  folk  upon  the  field 
I  builded  Babylon,  —  that  burg  so  fair. 
In  stone  established,  doth  my  strength  declare. 
No  man  but  I  another  such  may  make  — " 
Scarcely  his  lips  the  self-same  words  they  spake 
Ere  that  his  ears  a  sovereign  sound  must  fill:  — 

"Nebuchadnezzar,  thou  hast  spoken  ill, 
Thy  principality  is  past  and  gone. 
Afar  from  men  on  moor  shalt  dwell  alone. 
Walk  in  the  wilderness,  with  wild  beasts  meet, 
A  beast  thyself,  bracken  and  grass  shalt  eat. 

[  164  ] 


CttanntBtf 

With  raging  wolves,  and  with  wild  asses  bide!" 

So  he  departed,  in  his  midmost  pride 

His  solemn  pomp  and  solace  must  he  change 

For  care,  an  outcast  he  in  countries  strange; 

Far,  far,  afield,  where  never  folk  may  fare, 

At  heart  distraught,  none  other  thought  he  bare 

Save  that  he  be  a  beast,  or  ox,  or  bull, 

He  fares  on  all-fours,  grass  for  food  doth  pull. 

Eats  hay  as  horse  when  herbs  must  fade  and  fail 

Counts  him  for  cow,  whom  once  as  King  they  hail. 

Thus  seven  summers  o'er  him  passed,  I  trow. 

His  thighs  beneath  his  trunk  waxed  thick  enow, 

With  dew  of  heaven  was  he  damp  withal, 

His  tangled  hair  doth  all  about  him  fall. 

Sheer  from  his  shoulders  o'er  his  limbs  it  flows 

Twenty-fold  twining,  reaches  to  his  toes; 

Clotted  as  clay  the  strands  together  clung  — 

Spread  o'er  his  breast,  his  beard,  to  earth  it  hung; 

His  brows,  as  briars,  bristle  broad  cheeks  o'er, 

Hollow  his  eyes,  as  set  'neath  caverns  hoar. 

Grey  as  a  glede,  and  grim  his  claws  to  sight, 

Crooked  and  keen,  as  doth  beseem  the  kite; 

And  eagle-hued  was  he,  and  all  o'er-grown 

Till  he  His  power  who  all  things  wrought  doth  own 

Who  at  His  will  doth  kingdoms  give  or  take  — 

His  wits  he  wins  that  did  him  erst  forsake. 

To  knowledge  come,  himself  he  knew,  in  sooth, 

[   165  1 


CttanntBB 


Loving  the  Lord,  believed  in  very  truth 
None  else  than  He  all  power  in  hand  did  hold  — 
Soon  set  again  on  seat,  throned  as  of  old, 
Blithe  of  his  coming  did  the  barons  bow, 
His  head  its  proper  hue  hath  ta'en,  I  trow; 
Set  was  his  state,  and  settled,  speedily  — 
But  thou,  Belshazzar,  tho'  his  son  thou  be, 
Seeing  these  signs  with  sight,  set  them  at  naught, 
Against  high  Heaven  didst  uplift  thy  thought. 
Bold  boast  and  blasphemy  against  Him  cast, 
These,  His  fair  vessels  foul  defiled  at  last, 
Before  thy  barons  thou  hast  had  them  brought. 
That  for  His  house  and  honour  first  were  wrought 
In  cursed  hour  for  wenches  wine  didst  pour 
And  brought  the  beverage  this,  thy  board,  before, 
In  bowls  once  blithely  blest  by  Bishop's  hand. 
And  in  them  praised  thy  gods,  who  lifeless  stand 
Made  out  of  stocks  and  stones  that  stir  nor  move  - 
For  gross  transgression,  God  in  Heaven  above. 
Hath  sent  into  this  hall  this  sight  so  drear, 
This  fist,  whose  fingers  filled  thy  heart  with  fear, 
Who,  with  rough  pen  rasped  runes  upon  the  wall; 
The  words  here  written,  they  shall  be  withal, 
(Figured,  I  find  this  at  Our  Father's  will) 
Three,  '\Mane,  Tekel,  P hares" —  Threeiold  still 
The  threat  of  punishment,  I  trow,  is  found 
And  I  the  speech  would  speedily  expound: 

[   i66  ] 


CttanntBs 

*Mane"  doth  mean,  the  Mighty  God  hath  well 
Counted  thy  kingdom,  doth  its  number  tell, 
Fulfilled  it  is,  in  faith  to  very  end  — 
'  TekeV^  doth  teach  thee,  so  the  term  doth  tend, 
Thy  reign  is  weighed,  in  balance  hung,  I  ween, 
Thy  deeds  of  faith  they  all  too  few  have  been. 
And  for  those  faults  "Phares'^  doth  follow  fair  — 
^Phares,"  forsooth,  I  find  doth  this  declare: 
Past  is  thy  Princedom,  perished  in  this  hour. 
Thy  reign  reft  from  thee,  Persians  take  thy  power, 
The  Medes  thy  masters,  thou  art  shorn  of  might!" ' 
The  King  commands  them  there  to  clothe  that 

wight 
E'en  as  the  cov'nant  was,  in  cloth  so  fine, 
In  purple  precious  soon  doth  Daniel  shine 
Around  his  neck  of  gold  a  collar  see. 
Then  was  declared,  by  the  Duke's  decree. 
By  bold  Belshazzar,  men  to  him  should  bow, 
(By  the  King's  heralds  thus  't  was  called,  I  trow,) 
As  the  third  prince  approved,  of  privy  train, 
High  o'er  all  others,  save  but  only  twain, 
Nighest  Belshazzar,  both  in  burg  and  field. 
Thus  was  it  cried  in  court,  as  set  and  sealed. 
Fain  were  the  folk  that  followed  him  alway  — 
Thus  dight  was  Daniel,  ended  was  the  day. 
And  night  drew  nigh,  that  many  a  woe  must  mark, 
For  ere  again  day  dawned  upon  the  dark 

[   167  1 


CttanMBB 


Dealt  was  that  doom  that  Daniel  had  assured  — 
In  solace  the  solemnity  endured 
Of  that  fair  feast  until  the  sun  did  fail 
And  the  bright  sky's  fair  hues  did  fade  and  pale; 
Murky  the  weather  waxed,  the  mist-clouds  fly 
O'er  Heaven's  path  where  meadows  lowly  lie. 
Each  noble  to  his  home  he  hies  full  fast, 
And  supper  soon  with  song  is  over-past, 
For  the  fourth  night  a  fellowship  they  sware  — 
With  bliss  Belshazzar  to  his  bed  they  bare 
Rest  as  he  list,  he  riseth  never  more  — 
In  flocks,  his  foes,  the  fields  they  cover  o'er 
Long  to  assail  the  land  in  wait  they  lie 
At  this  same  hour,  assembled  suddenly,  — 
None  in  that  dwelling  wist,  and  no  man  heeds  — 
Daring  Darius,  duke  he  of  the  Medes 
Proud  Prince  of  Persia,  lord  of  India's  might 
With  many  a  legion  large,  and  armed  knight 
Who  for  Chaldea's  spoil  a  space  had  spied 
Now,  in  the  darkness  thronging,  thither  hied. 
Crossing  clear  waters,  they  the  walls  beset. 
Long  ladders  lift,  full  swift  aloft  they  get, 
Steal  stilly  thro'  the  town,  ere  any  wake 
Within  an  hour  of  nightfall  entry  make. 
No  man  affrighting,  on  they  steal,  until 
The  palace  principal  they  reach,  so  still; 
Then,  a  great  rout,  to  onslaught  fierce  they  sprang 

[   i68  ] 


CttanntBB 


While  bursting  blast  on  high  from  bright  brass  rang, 

A  cry  arose  that  many  doth  affright, 

And  men  were,  sleeping,  slain,  ere  'scape  they  might. 

Each  house  was  harried  ere  man  might  draw  breath, 

Belshazzar  in  his  bed  was  beat  to  death. 

His  blood  and  brains  upon  the  cloth  are  flung. 

The  King,  in  curtain,  by  his  heels  he  hung, 

They  draw  him  by  his  feet  in  foul  despite  — 

Who,  doughty,  drank  that  day  from  vessels  bright, 

Is  worth  no  more  than  dog  in  ditch  that  lies  — 

The  master  of  the  Medes,  with  morn  doth  rise, 

Daring  Darius,  dight  on  throne  that  day, 

Hath  seized  the  city  —  peace  he  made  straightway 

With  all  the  barons  who  to  him  did  bow. 

For  the  lord's  sins  that  land  was  lost,  I  trow. 

For  his  bold  blasphemy,  who  did  defile 

The  vessels  of  God's  house,  holy  erstwhile. 

Cursed  for  uncleanness  he,  and  caught  therein, 

Cast  down  from  dignity  for  deeds  of  sin, 

From  this  world's  worship  was  he  thrust  aside, 

And,  of  the  joys  of  highest  Heaven  denied, 

Never  might  he  Our  Lovely  Lord  behold  — 

Thus  in  a  threefold  tale  I  now  have  told 

How  that  uncleanness  doth  offend  the  sight 

Of  Our  Dear  Lord,  who  dwells  in  Heaven's 

height, 
Doth  work  in  Him  to  wrath,  stirs  up  His  ire, 

[   169  1 


Cfeanne^^ 


Cleanness  His  comfort  is,  and  His  desire, 
Who  shine  in  seemliness  shall  see  His  face  — 
That  we  this  vesture  wear  God  send  us  grace, 
To  serve  aye  in  His  sight,  in  sweet  solace. 

Amen. 


^atknu 


(patience 

JONAH 

In  Judah's  land  it  chanced,  in  days  long  gone, 
A  noble  prophet  lived,  as  Jonah  known, 
God's  voice  awoke  him.  woeful  all  to  hear. 
And,  roughly  ringing,  roared  within  his  ear: 

'Arise,'  it  quoth:  'and  run,  nor  make  delay, 
Speed  forth  to  Nineveh,  thy  speech  let  stay. 
And  through  that  city  cry,  in  street  and  square, 
That  which  I  bid  thee  speak  that  hour,  nor  spare. 
For  well  I  wot  the  dwellers  wicked  be. 
Their  malice  much,  nor  more  I  would  them  see; 
But  vengeance  on  their  villainy  and  venom  wreak 
Hie  thither  hastily,  mine  errand  speak!' 
Whenas  that  sound  was  still,  that  marvel  brought. 
Wrathful  he  waxed,  and,  angry,  thus  he  thought 

*  If  I  His  bidding  do,  bring  them  this  tale. 
Be  ta'en  in  Nineveh,  't  will  be  my  bale; 
He  telleth  me  those  traitors  fierce  shall  be. 
Bear  I  these  tidings,  they'll  lay  hands  on  me. 
Pen  me  in  prison,  in  the  stocks  to  pine, 
Bind  fast  in  fetters,  blind  these  eyes  of  mine, 
A  message  marvellous  for  man  to  bear 
To  foes,  and  to  accursed  fiends  declare! 

I   173   ] 


{patitnu 


Methinks  my  God  doth  will  my  grief  and  pain, 
For  some  desert  I  'm  destined  to  be  slain.' 
*Nay/  quoth  the  prophet,  'for  no  peril  I 
Approach  the  city,  but  away  will  fly, 
I  will  to  Tarsus,  tarry  there,  and  hide. 
When  I  be  lost,  lightly  He'll  let  me  bide.' 
Then  swift  by  rising,  rapidly  doth  speed 
Jonah  to  Jaflfa,  chafing  at  the  need. 
Swearing  for  naught  he 'Id  suffer  such  sore  pain,  — 
The  Father,  who  him  formed,  tho'  He  were  fain 
To  help  —  'Our  Sire  who  sits  on  seat  so  high 
In  glory  glowing,  little  shall  espy 
Tho'  I  in  Nineveh  all  naked  stand. 
Rent  on  the  rood,  by  many  a  ribald  hand.' 
So  passes  he  to  port,  passage  to  pay. 
Finds  a  fair  ship  ready  to  sail  straightway. 
Speaks  with  the  sailors,  payeth  them,  forthright, 
To  take  him  swift  to  Tarsus,  an  they  might. 
He  trode  the  deck,  and  they  their  gear  uptake, , 
Catch  up  the  cross-sail,  fast  the  cables  make; 
Winding  the  windlass,  do  the  anchors  weigh, 
Swift  make  to  spar  the  bowline  fast  alway. 
Gather  the  guide-ropes,  as  the  great  sails  fall, 
To  larboard  lying,  catch  the  wind  withal, 
The  blithe  breeze,  blowing,  bellies  out  the  sheet, 
The  sweet  ship  swiftly  from  the  shore  doth  fleet. 
As  Jonah,  never  Jew  so  joyful  there, 

[  174  1 


ipatknu 


Deeming  from  doom  divine  afar  to  fare, 
He  deemed  that  Wisdom  which  the  world  did  plan 
Had  no  might  on  the  main  to  vex  a  man. 
Ahl  Witless  wretch,  who  wouldst  from  suffering  flee, 
In  plight  more  perilous  and  pain  shalt  be! 
For  fancy  false  doth  flatter  him,  I  ween, 
Samaria  shunned,  of  God  he 'Id  not  be  seen. 
That  far  His  glance  was  flung,  full  well  he 'Id  read, 
And  oft  had  conned  what  erst  a  king  had  said, 
David,  on  dais  dight,  whose  words  shall  be 
Set  in  the  psalter  for  all  men  to  see  — 
*0h,  foolish  folk!  Who  thus  forget  so  oft 
He  Who  made  all  things,  tho'  He  dwell  aloft. 
Deem  ye  He  hears  not  who  the  ear  hath  wrought? 
And  seeth  not,  who  sight  to  man  hath  brought?' 
He  dreads  no  dint  who  for  old  age  doth  doat  — 
.  Far  on  the  flood,  to  Tarsus  doth  he  float. 
But  yet  I  trow,  betimes  he  '11  be  o'er-ta'en, 
The  bolt  he  shot,  falls  short,  and  fails  its  aim; 
For  He  who  wieldeth  all,  and  all  doth  wot, 
And  ever  waits  and  wakes,  He  wiles  hath  got, 
Forces  Himself  hath  made  He  forth  doth  call, 
In  wrath  they  wake,  for  wrathful  He  withal. 
*Eurus  and  Aquilon,  from  Eastern  throne 
Blow  at  My  bidding  on  the  waters  lonel' 
Small  space  was  there  I  trow  'twixt  speech  and  deed, 
Fain  were  the  twain  to  work  His  will  with  speed; 

[  175  ] 


(patience 


Anon  from  the  North-East  wakes  noise  anew, 

When  both  winds  blow  upon  the  waters  blue. 

The  storm-wrack  drives,  loud  rumbling,  o'er  the  sky, 

The  swelling  sea  doth  sorely  sob  and  sigh, 

Winds,  on  the  waters  wan  they,  wrestling,  close, 

The  waves  waxed  wroth,  to  towering  heights  uprose, 

Then  rushed  adown  th'  abyss,  where  fishes  dwell, 

Nor  there  might  find  a  rest,  but,  surging,  swell; 

When  wind  and  wave  and  ship  together  meet 

In  joyless  gin  hath  Jonah  set  his  feet! 

The  ship  reeled  round  upon  the  roaring  tide. 

The  gear,  I  trow,  the  buffets  might  not  bide, 

Hurled  on  a  heap  alike  were  helm  and  stern. 

And  mast  and  rope  were  riven  in  their  turn. 

The  sail,  it  swept  the  sea,  the  ship  must  sup 

The  water  cold,  the  cry  loud  riseth  up. 

The  cords  are  cut,  and  overboard  are  cast 

While  many  a  lad,  he  leapt,  and  baled  full  fast, 

Threw  out  the  threatening  water  —  all  were  fain 

To  live,  no  life  so  lowly  but  is  gain. 

Busy,  they  overboard  their  ballast  threw. 

Their  bags,  their  feather-beds,  their  raiment  new, 

Their  kists,  their  coffers,  and  their  cargo  all 

To  light  that  boat,  and  calm  to  find  withal. 

But  ever  louder  waxed  the  wind's  shrill  cry. 

More  wroth  the  waves,  the  sea  ran  yet  more  high. 

Weary  and  worn,  they  wist  no  wile,  save  they, 

[   176  1 


(patience 


Each  to  his  god,  for  grace  should  straltly  pray; 
Some  vowed  to  Vernagu  a  solemn  vow, 
Some  to  Diana,  some  to  Neptune,  bow, 
Mahoun  and  Margot  call  —  on  Moon  and  Sun  — 
Each  lauds  the  lord  who  hath  his  fealty  won. 
Then  spake  the  boldest,  nigh  unto  despair, 
'I  trow  some  lawless  wretch  doth  with  us  fare, 
Who,  grieving  God,  hath  gat  himself  herein, 
Mars  by  misdeed,  and  sinks  us  with  his  sin. 
Here  cast  we  lots,'  the  leader  quoth,  'and  he 
On  whom  the  fate  doth  fall  thrown  forth  shall  be. 
The  guilty  gone,  we,  as  good  men  and  true. 
May  trust  Who  rules  this  wrack  our  plight  shall  rue.* 
To  this  assent  they  set,  assembling  there 
From  every  corner  come  their  doom  to  dare; 
Beneath  the  hatch  the  leader  light  doth  spring 
The  folk  to  fetch,  and  to  the  lot  to  bring, 
But  ne'er  a  man  he  misses  at  that  tide 
Save  the  Jew,  Jonah,  who  himself  would  hide; 
Fearing  the  flood,  before  it  had  he  fled 
To  the  boat's  bottom,  made  on  boards  his  bed. 
To  oar  fast  holding  for  the  heavens'  roar. 
He  fell  asleep,  and  slumbering  doth  snore. 
With  hasty  foot  the  pilot,  pushing,  wakes. 
Bidding  him  rise,  his  dream  he  roughly  breaks; 
Then  with  a  hook  he  hauls  him  up  by  hand, 
His  garment  grappling,  on  the  deck  he  stands, 

[   177  1 


{padmu 


Rough,  he  arraigns  him  for  what  reason  he 
In  such  a  stress  of  storm  asleep  should  be? 
They  set  their  lots,  and  swift  and  surely  cast 
The  lot  doth  light  on  Jonah  at  the  last. 
Then,  with  one  voice  they  loudly  on  him  call: 
*What  the  foul  fiend  hast  done,  thou  wretched  thrall? 
What  seek'st  thou  on  the  sea,  thou  sinful  soul 
For  thy  deserts  to  deal  us  doom  and  dole? 
Hast  man,  no  lord,  no  god  on  whom  to  cry, 
That  thou  dost  surely  sleep  when  death  draws  nigh? 
What  land  doth  own  thee?   Say,  what  here  hast  sought? 
Whither  in  world  wouldst  fly?  What  wrong  hast  wrought? 
Behold  thy  doom  is  dight  for  thine  ill  deed 
Give  glory  to  thy  god  ere  hence  thou  speed!' 
*A  Hebrew,  I,'  he  quoth,  'of  Israel's  fold, 
I  worship  Him,  I  wis,  who  wrought  of  old 
The  world,  the  welkin,  winds,  and  starry  height, 
And  all  its  dwellers  with  His  word  of  might, 
And  all  this  mischief,  it  was  made  for  me 
In  that  I  grieved  my  God,  and  guilty  be. 
Carry  me  to  the  edge,  and  cast  me  out 
If  good  hap  ye  would  see,  nor  have  more  doubt.'! 
By  signs  the  sailors  understand,  they  see 
How,  from  God's  face  he,  foolish,  fain  would  flee. 
Then  fear  upon  them  fell,  in  sore  afltright 
They  bend  them  to  the  oar,  to  row  with  might; 
In  haste  they  hie  them,  with  long  oars  that  day 

[   178  ] 


(patience 


Since  they  have  slipped  their  sail,  to  make  some  way 
They  heave  and  haul  on  high,  themselves  to  aid, 
Bootless  to  oar  they  bend,  no  way  they  made, 
The  foaming  flood  hath  splintered  every  oar 
Naught  in  their  hand  they  held  to  help  them  more, 
No  comfort  could  they  find,  nor  counsel  see 
Save  Jonah  judged  and  punished  swift  should  be. 
But  first  they  pray  the  Prince  of  prophets  there 
To  grant  His  grace  that  they  may  grieve  Him  ne'er 
That  they  in  sinless  blood  their  hands  should  stain 
Tho'  this.  His  servant,  should  by  them  be  slain. 
By  head  and  foot  they,  swiftly,  Jonah  seize. 
Straightway  they  cast  him  to  the  surging  seas. 
Scarce  is  he  outcast  when  the  storm  doth  cease, 
Settles  the  sea,  the  wind  it  sinks  to  peace, 
Torn  was  their  tackle,  tottering  on  the  wave, 
Stiff  streams,  the  straining  ship,  they  forward  drave, 
A  sweeter  current  swept  them  to  the  bank  — 
Leaping  to  land,  loudly  they  render  thanks 
To  God  the  Merciful,  in  Moses'  way. 
With  solemn  vows  and  sacrifice  that  day; 
Grant  He  be  God  alone,  nor  peer  hath  He  — 
Tho'  they  rejoice,  Jonah,  in  dread  is  he, 
No  sore  he  suffers,  yet  hath  peril  known. 
For  what  befell  that  wight,  in  waters  thrown 
A  wonder  were,  save  Holy  Writ  had  shown. 

[   179  ] 


{patknu 


Jonah  the  Jew  hath  now  been  judged  to  drown, 
Forth  from  the  shattered  ship  men  throw  him  down, 
A  wildly  weltering  whale,  as  fate  decreed, 
From  the  depth  driven,  by  the  boat  doth  speed, 
'Ware  was  he  of  that  wight  who  sought  the  tide 
And,  swiftly  sweeping,  oped  his  swallow  wide, 
The  folk  yet  hold  his  feet,  the  fish  him  grips. 
With  never  touch  of  tooth  thro'  throat  he  slips. 
With  swinging  strokes  he  cleaves  the  surging  sea, 
By  rocks  so  rough,  and  strands  drifts  rapidly; 
Within  his  maw  the  man,  entranced  by  dread, 
Small  wonder  if  for  woe  he  were  nigh  dead. 
For  had  not  Heaven's  high  King,  by  might  so  great 
Warded  this  wretch  in  monster's  bowels  strait 
Who  might  believe,  by  lore  of  any  kind. 
That  one  might  live  for  long,  so  close  confined? 
Saved  was  he  by  that  Sire  who  sits  on  high 
When  hopeless,  he  in  the  whale's  womb  did  lie. 
Thro'  the  deep  driven,  waters  dark  and  drear, 
Cold  was  his  comfort,  huge  his  care  and  fear. 
For  strange  the  fate  that  fell  to  him  withal 
Launched  from  the  boat,  in  a  beast's  jaws  to  fall. 
And  down  his  throat  with  ne'er  a  check  to  glide 
As  mote  thro'  minster  door  —  his  jaws  so  wide! 
Then,  gliding  thro'  the  gills,  thro'  slippery  slime. 
In  at  a  gut,  that  seemed  a  road  that  time. 
Heels  over  head,  downward  did  Jonah  fall 

[   i8o  \ 


{patitnu 


Into  a  space  as  broad  as  any  hall, 
There,  setting  fast  his  feet,  he  groped,  until 
He  in  the  stomach  stood,  which  stank  full  ill, 
In  slime  and  sorrow,  savouring  of  hell 
Built  was  his  bower,  who  far  from  bale  would  dwell  I 
He  seeks  and  searches  where  he  best  may  bide 
Within  the  navel  naught  he  found  that  tide 
Nor  rest  nor  rescue  —  Naught  but  mire  doth  meet 
Where'er  he  seeketh  —  But  God  still  is  sweet, 
On  Him  at  last  he  leans,  on  Him  doth  cry  — 
*  Prince,  pity  now  Thy  prophet's  misery, 
Tho'  I  be  foolish,  fickle,  false  in  truth. 
Waive  now  Thy  vengeance,  be  not  void  of  ruth, 
Tho'  guilty  I  of  guile,  false  prophet  shown 
As  God  all  goods  and  glory  be  Thine  own! 
Have  mercy  on  Thy  man's  misdeeds  this  hour. 
As  Lord  of  land  and  water  prove  Thy  power  1' 
So  creeps  he  to  a  corner,  wherein  he 
From  all  defiling  filth  might  find  him  free, 
There  safe  and  sound,  save  for  the  darkness  deep 
As  in  the  ship  he  did  aforetime  sleep, 
He  in  a  bowel  of  that  beast  abode 
Three  days  and  nights,  and  ever  thought  on  God,  ^ 
His  might  His  mercy  measureless,  I  wis. 
Knows  Him  in  bale  whom  he  had  fled  in  bliss. 
Ever  the  whale  doth  plunge  thro'  weltering  deeps, 
By  many  a  region  rough  the  road  he  keeps, 

[   i8i   1 


^atmu 


A  morsel  In  his  maw  doth  surely  stick 
Which,  tho'  it  be  full  small,  yet  makes  him  sick; 
Well  ware  was  Jonah,  well  he  heard  that  tide 
The  beast  turn  on  his  back,  and  lash  his  side, 
Swift  supplication  doth  the  prophet  make. 
In  this  wise,  as  I  ween,  with  words  he  spake. 

*  Lord,  I  have  called  on  Thee,  in  care  so  fell 
Didst  hear  me  from  this  hole,  the  womb  of  hell; 
I  called,  and  Thou  my  feeble  voice  didst  hear,  — 
Hast  dipped  me  in  the  deep's  heart,  dim  and  drear, 
The  torrent  of  Thy  flood  did  flow  me  round 
From  gutters  gushing,  pools  that  know  no  ground, 
Swollen  by  striving  streams.  Thy  waters  all 
As  o'er  dam  dashing,  on  my  head  they  fall. 
And  yet  I  say,  set  here  in  sea-depths  fast, 
Tho'  sorrowful,  and  from  Thine  eyes  outcast, 
Dissevered  from  Thy  sight,  I  hope  alway 
Thy  temple  courts  to  tread,  to  Thee  to  pray! 
Wrapped  round  in  water  to  my  woe  this  tide 
Th'  abyss  doth  bind  the  body  where  I  bide. 
The  purling  waves,  they  play  above  my  head. 
Yea,  in  man's  utmost  need  am  I  this  stead, 
The  bars  of  such  a  prison  me  confine 
That  I  no  land  may  reach  —  my  life  is  Thine. 
Thou  shalt  release  me,  and  forego  Thy  right 
In  that  I  trust  Thy  mercy's  matchless  might; 

I   182  ] 


^atknu 


When  pangs  of  anguish  pierced  my  soul,  then  I 
To  my  rich  Lord  returning,  raised  my  cry, 
Prayed  Him  that,  piteous,  he  lend  his  ear 
That  in  His  holy  house  my  prayer  he  hear. 
I  with  Thy  marvels  dealt  for  many  a  day  — 
Now,  of  a  truth,  I  wot,  unwise  be  they 
Who  trust  in  vanity,  and  trifles  vain, 
For  all  is  naught,  be  mercy  from  us  ta'en! 
But  I  devoutly  vow,  in  veritie, 
To  do  Thee  sacrifice,  when  safe  I  be, 
A  holy  gift  I  '11  give,  I  '11  pledge  mine  oath, 
Obey  Thy  bidding  swiftly,  on  my  troth!' 
Our  Father  to  the  fish  did  fiercely  cry. 
Bade  him  spit  Jonah  forth  on  spar  so  dry; 
The  whale  wends  at  His  will,  he  finds  a  ford, 
Throws  up  the  prophet,  e'en  as  bade  the  Lord, 
So  swept  into  the  sand,  in  vesture  soaked. 
Much  need  had  Jonah  then  to  wash  his  cloak! 
Thus  was  he  brought  to  bide,  in  veritie. 
Within  that  land  from  which  he  thought  to  flee. 


^mi 


(peatf 


I  I 

Pearl,  full  pleasant  for  prince's  pay- 
To  cleanly  set  in  gold  so  clear, 
From  Orient  lands,  I  dare  to  say, 
Found  I  never  its  precious  peer. 
So  round,  so  choice,  the  pearl  alway,  ' 
So  small,  so  smooth,  a  shining  sphere. 
Wherever  I  judged  of  jewels  gay 
I  set  it  singly,  without  compeer. 

Alas!  I  lost  my  pearl  in  a  bower, 

From  grass  to  ground  I  let  it  slide, 

And  I  pine,  sore  wounded  by  Love's  fierce  power, 

For  that  spotless  pearl  that  was  once  my  pride! 

2 
Since  then  in  that  spot  have  I  lingered  long 
Where  it  fell  from  my  hand,  and  with  many  a  sigh, 
Have  I  mourned  the  joy  that  had  cured  my  wrong 
And  lifted  my  hope  and  my  bliss  on  high. 
Yet  the  dart  of  sorrow  is  over  strong; 
My  heart  for  sadness  is  parched  and  dry, 
Yet  heard  I  never  so  sweet  a  song 
As  woke  that  still  hour  with  its  melody. 

[   187  1 


^Mtt 


Forsooth,  I  have  thought  full  many  a  thought 
Of  how  its  fairness  the  clay  doth  hide; 
Earth,  on  a  gem  hast  thou  ruin  wrought, 
O,  spotless  pearl  that  was  once  my  pride! 

3 

Forth  from  that  spot  shall  spices  flow 
Where  such  a  treasure  to  ruin  hath  run, 
White,  blue,  and  red,  shall  the  blossoms  blow 
Their  hues  shine  fairly  beneath  the  sun. 
The  earth  where  my  pearl  now  lieth  low 
Nor  flower  nor  fruit  shall  for  ever  shun. 
He  who  wisheth  grass  must  the  dead  seed  sow 
Else  never  the  wheat  to  the  ear  were  won. 
Good  seed  I  ween,  shall  bear  good  fruit, 
Nor  seed  so  seemly  in  vain  hath  died, 
But  spices  fragrant  shall  find  their  root 
In  that  spotless  pearl  that  was  once  my  pride! 

4 

It  chanced  that  I  came  to  that  spot  one  day 
Whereof  I  tell,  to  that  bower  so  green, 
'T  was  August,  the  year's  high  holiday 
When  the  corn  it  falleth  'neath  sickle  keen. 
Where  erstwhile  my  pearl  from  my  hold  did  stray 
The  flowerets  flourished  so  bright  and  sheen, 

I   i88  ] 


(pearf 


Gllly-flower,  ginger,  gromwell  grey, 

With  peonies  blushing  in  between. 

Fair  was  that  bower  in  summer  glow 

Yet  a  fairer  fragrance  was  wafted  wide 

From  that  place  where  she  dwells,  as  well  I  know, 

That  spotless  pearl,  that  was  once  my  pride! 

5 

I  clasped  my  hands  then  for  sorrow  cold, 
On  that  spot  I  found  me  in  fetters  caught, 
A  doleful  dirge  in  my  heart  it  tolled 
Though  Reason  peace  to  my  soul  had  taught. 

I  mourned  my  pearl  that  was  there  in  hold, 
Within  me  doubt  with  doubt  fast  fought, 
Through  comfort  of  Christ  had  I  fain  been  bold, 
Yet  my  will  was  to  sorrow  in  bondage  brought. 

Prostrate  I  fell  on  that  flowery  mead, 

Fragrance  o'ercame  me  at  that  tide, 

And  slumber  still'd  me  to  better  rede 

Of  that  spotless  pearl,  that  was  once  my  pride! 

II  6 

From  that  spot  my  spirit  sprang  forth  in  space, 
My  body  enwrapped  in  dream  did  lie, 
My  soul  it  had  fared,  by  God's  good  grace, 
To  behold  adventures  and  marvels  high. 
I  wist  not  whither  my  way  to  trace 

I   189  1 


^mt 


But  cloven  cliffs  rose  before  mine  eye/ 
Towards  a  forest  I  set  my  face, 
Radiant  were  the  rocks  I  might  there  descry! 
No  heart  of  man  can  conceive  the  light, 
The  gleaming  glory,  that  glittered  there, 
No  web  e'er  woven  by  dexterous  wight 
In  fashion,  I  ween,  was  half  so  fair! 

7 

Girdled  about  was  all  the  down 

With  crystal  cliffs,  so  clear  of  hue, 

Bright  woods  and  holts  the  hill  did  crown 

Their  boles  as  azure  as  Indian  blue. 

As  burnished  silver  they  floated  down, 

The  leaves,  that  a  quivering  shadow  threw, 

When  the  gleam  of  the  glades  was  against  them  thrown 

With  shimmering  sheen  they  shone  anew. 

And  the  gravel  all  that  the  ground  o'er-lay 
Was  of  Orient  pearl,  beyond  compare. 
The  sun's  own  beams  waxed  pale  and  alway 
Beholding  that  fashion,  so  wondrous  fair! 

8 

The  fashioning  of  those  downs  so  bright 
They  bade  my  spirit  all  grief  forswear. 
Food  to  refresh  me  I  found  aright 
So  sweet  a  savour  of  fruits  was  there. 

[   190  ] 


(pew( 


In  peace  the  birdlings  took  their  flight, 
Of  flaming  hues,  great  and  small  they  were, 
Nor  citole,  nor  viol,  though  touched  aright 
With  their  mirthful  music  might  aye  compare! 
For  when  they  sang  in  such  sweet  accord 
And  softly  beat  with  their  wings  the  air 
Naught  might  such  rapture  to  heart  afford 
As  hearkening  their  fashion,  so  wondrous  fair! 

9 

In  sooth  't  was  fashioned  in  fairest  wise 
That  forest,  where  fate  led  my  feet  that  day, 
Its  glory  I  know  not  to  devise 
Nor  tongue  of  man  may  its  praise  essay. 
But  ever  I  walked  in  gladsome  wise. 
No  hill  so  steep  that  my  steps  might  stay, 
The  further  I  journeyed,  in  fairer  guise 
Bloomed  flowers,  and  foliage,  and  fruit  alway. 
Hedgerows,  and  border,  and  rivers'  sheen 
As  threads  of  fine  gold  that  hillside  bare, 
I  won  to  a  water  those  shores  between, 
Christ,  but  the  fashion  thereof  was  fair! 

lO 

Oh,  the  fashioning  of  that  goodly  stream! 
The  banks  were  fair  with  beryl  bright 
Swooning  sweet  was  the  water's  theme, 

[   191  1 


(pearf 


A  murmuring  music  that  rang  aright. 
Down  in  the  deep  as  gems  they  gleam 
The  stones,  that  glow  as  thro'  glass  the  light ' 
Or  e'en  as  the  stars,  while  the  weary  dream, 
Shine  in  the  welkin  in  winter's  night. 
For  every  pebble  within  that  pool 
Was  emerald,  sapphire,  or  gem  so  rare, 
And  all  alight  was  that  water  cool, 
Ah,  never  was  fashion  half  so  fair! 

Ill  II 

The  fashioning  of  the  down  and  dale, 
Of  wood  and  water,  and  field  so  fair, 
It  bred  in  me  bliss,  and  it  banished  bale, 
Freed  from  distress,  and  destroyed  my  care. 
Down  on  a  sluggard  streamlet's  trail 
Wandering  in  bliss  did  I  thoughtful  fare, 
The  further  I  followed  that  watery  vale 
The  greater  the  joy  that  constrained  me  there. 
Fortune  dealeth  as  Fortune  still, 
Sends  she  solace  or  sorrow  sore; 
The  man  on  whom  she  doth  work  her  will 
Of  either  measure  hath  more  and  more. 

12 

More  of  bliss  was  there  in  that  wise 
Than  I  might  tell,  had  I  time  alway 

[   192  ] 


^iAvt 


Tongue  of  mortal  might  ne'er  suffice 

The  tithe  of  that  gladness  glad  to  say. 

For  truly  I  deemed  that  Paradise 

Were  beyond  the  banks  of  the  stream  that  day, 

And  I  hoped  that  the  water,  by  some  devise, 

Betwixt  two  joys,  as  a  lakelet,  lay. 

Beyond  the  brook,  or  by  glen  or  glade, 
I  hoped  by  the  moat  to  get  me  o'er, 
But  the  water  was  deep,  I  durst  not  wade, 
And  longing  beset  me  more  and  more. 

13 

More  and  more,  and  yet  ever  more 
The  yearning  to  pass  that  brooklet's  band, 
For  if  it  were  fair  on  the  nearer  shore 
Far  lovelier  was  the  distant  land. 
Mine  eyes  they  hasted  my  feet  before, 
In  search  of  a  ford  my  way  they  scanned, 
But  the  way  had  ever  more  woes  in  store 
The  further  I  wandered  beside  the  strand. 
But  for  never  a  woe  I  thought  to  turn 
From  a  way  that  so  fair  a  semblance  wore. 
Then  lo!  a  new  note  was  it  mine  to  learn 
That  moved  my  spirit  aye  more  and  more. 


[   193   1 


{ptAxt 


14 

More  marvels  arose  my  soul  to  daze; 

I  saw,  beyond  that  streamlet  fair, 

A  cliff  of  crystal,  all  ablaze, 

A  glory  of  royal  light  it  bare. 

A  child  sat  beneath  those  gleaming  rays, 

A  gracious  maiden,  full  debonaire, 

Glistening  white  was  her  robe  always 

I  knew  her  well,  I  had  seen  her  ere! 

As  gleaming  gold  from  the  finer's  fire 
So  shone  that  light  on  the  further  shore, 
Mine  eyes  were  fettered  with  fond  desire, 
And  gazing,  I  knew  her  more  and  more. 

15 

Yet  more  I  longed  to  behold  her  face 
When  that  gentle  form  I  had  found  again, 
Such  glory  glad  did  my  soul  embrace 
As  aforetime  to  sorrow  it  aye  was  fain. 
Longing  to  speak  with  her  waxed  apace. 
But  for  wonder  from  words  must  I  needs  refrain, 
Beholding  her  in  so  strange  a  place 
The  marvel  my  spirit  might  well  constrain! 
Then  lifted  she  up  her  face  so  fair 
As  ivory  white,  mine  eyes  before. 
My  senses  for  gladness  were  scattered  there 
I  looked,  and  I  wondered  more  and  more! 

[   194  ] 


(peatC 


IV  i6 

Ah,  then  my  joy  was  by  fear  surpassed! 
I  stood  stock-still,  I  durst  not  call, 
Mine  eyes  were  open,  my  lips  shut  fast, 
I  stood  as  steady  as  hawk  in  hall! 
In  hope  that  that  vision  fair  might  last, 
In  dread  that,  by  hap,  it  should  so  befall 
That  she  I  had  chosen  should  'scape  my  cast 
Ere  yet  my  speech  might  her  flight  forestall. 
That  guileless  maiden,  of  winsome  grace, 
So  fair,  so  small,  so  seemly  slight, 
In  royal  array  rose  before  my  face, 
A  precious  jewel,  with  pearls  bedight. 

17 

Pearls  that  a  king  had  dearly  bought 

By  grace  were  vouchsafed  to  my  sight  that  day, 

As  down  the  bank  her  way  she  sought, 

Fresh  as  a  fleur-de-lys  in  May. 

Her  amise  was  glistening  white,  methought. 

Slashed  at  the  sides,  and  it  bare  alway 

A  broidery  bright,  with  pearls  inwrought. 

Mine  eyes  ne'er  beheld  such  fair  array! 

Wide  were  her  sleeves,  I  wot,  and  ween. 
With  a  two-fold  row  of  pearls  a-Hght, 
Her  kirtle  shone  with  the  self-same  sheen. 
With  precious  pearls  was  she  all  bedight! 

[   195  ] 


^tAti 


i8 

With  crown  bedlght  was  that  gracious  maid, 

Of  pearls  and  never  another  stone, 

Pure  white  pearls  on  each  point  displayed 

And  floretted  patterns  wrought  thereon. 

No  fillet  else  on  her  head  was  laid, 

But  her  hair  lay  softly  her  neck  upon, 

Noble  her  bearing  was,  and  staid, 

Whiter  her  skin  than  walrus  bone. 

As  gold  bright-burnished  her  shining  hair, 

The  waves  round  her  shoulders  lay  loose  and  light, 

And  the  sheen  thereof.  It  was  e'en  as  fair 

As  those  precious  pearls  that  her  robe  bedight. 

^9 

Bedight,  and  broidered  was  every  seam 
Of  the  sleeves,  of  the  sides  of  each  aperture 
With  pearls,  and  no  other  gem,  I  ween. 
All  burnished  white  was  that  maid's  vesture. 
But  a  wondrous  pearl,  of  spotless  gleam. 
At  her  midmost  breast  was  set  so  sure 
That  the  soul  of  man  were  set  adream. 
An  he  sought  to  appraise  that  pearl  so  pure. 
I  trow  that  no  tongue  of  man  hath  skill 
In  wisdom's  wise  to  declare  aright 
How  pure,  how  clear,  and  how  spotless  still 
Was  the  precious  pearl,  on  her  robe  bedight. 

I   196  1 


^mt 


20 
A  precious  treasure,  all  pearl-bedight 
Beyond  the  stream  she  stept  down  the  strand. 
From  here  to  Greece  was  no  heart  so  light 
As  mine,  when  that  maid  on  the  brink  did  stand. 
Nor  aunt,  nor  niece,  were  so  glad  a  sight; 
Closer  betwixt  us  I  trow,  the  band; 
Speech  did  she  proffer,  that  being  bright. 
With  such  gesture  as  courtesy  doth  command. 

Her  precious  crown  she  doffed  that  morn 

And  bowed  her  low,  as  a  maiden  might, 

Ah,  well  is  me  that  I  e'er  were  born 

To  speak  with  that  sweet  one,  with  pearls  bedight! 

'  V  21 

'O,  Pearl,'  I  quoth,  'with  pearls  bedight, 
Art  thou  the  pearl  I  must  sore  bemoan? 
Lamenting  oft,  through  the  weary  night 
In  secret  sorrow  I  wept  alone. 
Since  into  the  grass  didst  slip  from  sight. 
Pensive,  forlorn,  am  I  moody  grown, 
But  thou,  thou  dost  live  in  love  and  light. 
In  Paradise'  peace,  where  no  strife  is  known! 

What  fate  hath  hither  my  jewel  borne 

And  in  dole  and  in  danger  hath  set  me  e'er? 

For  since  that  we  twain  were  asunder  torn 

I  have  been  but  a  joyless  jeweller! ' 

I   197  ]. 


^mt 


22 

That  jewel  fair,  with  gems  agleam, 
Lifted  her  face,  with  eyes  of  grey, 
Set  on  her  crown  of  pearly  beam 
And  gravely  thereafter  she  spake  alway: 
*Sir,  ye  have  sure  mistook  your  theme 
An  ye  say  that  your  pearl  is  gone  astray, 
'T  is  safely  in  coffer  kept,  I  ween, 
In  this  gracious  garden  that  gleameth  gay! 

Where  one  may  linger  for  ever  more 
'.  Nor  loss  nor  sorrow  draw  ever  near, 

Methinks  thou  should'st  hold  it  for  treasure  store 

An  thou  wert  a  gentle  jeweller! 

23 
*But  jeweller  gentle,  an  thou  shalt  lose 
Thy  joy  for  a  gem  that  hath  seemed  thee  fair, 
(Methinks  thou  the  worser  way  doth  choose 
'.And  doth  weary  o'er  much  for  but  little  care. 
That  which  thou  lost,  it  was  but  a  rose, 
That  blossomed  and  faded  —  so  all  flowers  fare, 
By  grace  of  the  casket  that  held  it  close 
To  a  pearl  of  price  hath  it  waxen  there. 
And  thou  hast  called  thy  fate  a  thief 
Altho'  of  naught  hath  it  robbed  thee  e'er. 
Thou  blamest  the  cure  of  thy  bitter  grief. 
Thou  art  not  a  grateful  jeweller!' 
I  198  ] 


^taxt 


24 

A  jewel  to  me  that  rebuke  so  meet, 

As  pearls  her  gentle  words  that  day, 
*I  wis,'  quoth  I,  'my  blissful  Sweet 

My  sore  distress  thou  dost  charm  away. 

Forgiveness  of  thee  I  would  fain  entreat, 

I  deemed  my  pearl  reft  of  life  alway, 

I  will  hold  her  fast  since  once  more  we  meet 

And  with  her  in  those  groves  so  gay, 

I  will  love  my  Lord,  and  His  laws  so  good. 
Who  hath  brought  me  e'en  to  such  bliss  anear, 
Were  I  now  with  thee  beyond  this  flood 
Then  were  I  a  joyful  jeweller!' 

'Jeweller,'  quoth  that  gem  of  sheen, 
*Why  jest  ye  men?  So  mad  ye  be. 
Three  words  hast  thou  spoken  here,  I  ween, 
All  unadvised,  for  sooth,  the  three. 
Thou  knowest  naught  of  what  one  may  mean. 
Swifter  than  wit  thy  words  they  flee, 
Since  thou  with  thine  eyes  this  form  hath  seen 
My  dwelling  thou  deemest  this  dale  to  be! 

Again,  thou  sayest,  in  this  fair  land 

Wilt  abide  henceforth,  beside  me  here; 

The  third,  thou  thinkest  to  pass  this  strand, 

That  may  no  joyful  jeweller! 

[   199  1 


^tatt 


VI  26 

*I  give  that  jeweller  scanty  praise 
Who  belie veth  that  which  he  seeth  with  eye; 
Discourteous,  and  meet  for  all  blame  his  ways 
Who  deemeth  Our  Lord  would  speak  a  lie. 
Leal  promise  He  made  your  life  to  raise 
Tho'  Fortune  doomed  your  flesh  to  die, 
'  A-wrong  do  ye  read  His  words  always 
Who  only  trust  what  ye  may  descry. 
In  sooth,  't  is  a  token  true  of  pride 
Which  a  righteous  man  doth  ill  beseem, 
To  believe  no  tale  may  be  true  and  tried 
Save  that  which  his  reason  may  fitting  deem.* 

27 

'  Now  arraign  thyself,  hast  thou  spoken  well 
And  words  such  as  God  would  from  man  receive? 
Thou  sayest  that  thou  in  this  burg  wilt  dwell  — 
Methinks  it  behoves  thee  to  first  ask  leave! 
It  might  chance  that  refusal  thee  befell  — 
Thou  canst  cross  this  stream,  so  dost  thou  believe, 
Thou  must  seek  other  counsel,  I  rede  thee  well, 
First  shalt  thou  thy  corse  in  the  cold  clay  leave! 
Forfeit  the  ford  at  Paradise'  tree, 
Our  forefather  guarded  full  ill  the  stream. 
Thro'  dreary  death  man  his  weird  must  dree 
Ere  Christ  him  meet  for  the  crossing  deem.' 
[  200  ] 


^mt 


28 
*Dost  think  to  doom  me,'  quoth  I,  '  my  Sweet, 
To  mourn  again  as  I  mourned  of  yore? 
To  keep  what  I  find  would  I  now  entreat 
Must  I  needs  forego  it,  ere  speech  be  o'er? 
Why  should  I  thus  both  miss  and  meet? 
My  precious  jewel  dealeth  sorrow  sore  — 
What  availeth  treasure  but  to  gar  man  greet 
If  he  needs  must  lose  it  in  grief  once  more? 
Now  what  care  I  if  I  droop  and  dwine, 
Or  if  banished  afar  I  weave  my  theme? 
An  I  have  no  part  in  this  pearl  of  mine 
A  dole  enduring,  such  grief  I  deem.' 

29 

*Thou  deemest  dole  shall  avail  distress,* 
Thus  spake  the  maiden,  *why  dost  thou  so? 
By  loud  lament  over  loss  the  less 
A  greater  good  must  man  oft  forego! 
Thou  oughtest  rather  thy  lot  to  bless, 
And  praise  thy  God  in  weal  and  woe, 
Anger  availeth  not  at  this  stress 
Wax  not  wroth,  if  thou  grief  must  know. 
For  tho'  thou  dost  chafe  as  any  deer. 
With  rush,  and  wrestle,  and  angry  scream, 
Yet  thou  mayest  not  come  to  me  anear. 
But  must  needs  abide  till  He  fitting  deem! 
[  201  ] 


{piatt 


30 

*  Leave  God  to  judge,  let  Him  aye  decree,  \ 
From  His  path  He  swerveth  no  foot  aside, 
Thy  moaning  no  whit  shall  profit  thee 
Tho'  Sorrow  as  comrade  with  thee  abide. 
Ask  thou  His  blessing  right  speedily, 
Leaving  thy  strife,  and  cease  to  chide, 
His  pity  to  prayer  may  the  answer  be, 

And  Mercy  her  skill  may  make  known  this  bide. 
Comfort  He  may  to  thy  sorrow  deal. 
And  thus  shall  thy  loss  the  lighter  seem; 
For  marred,  or  made,  or  for  woe  or  weal, 
All  lieth  in  Him,  as  He  fitting  deeml' 

vn  31 

Then  answered  I  straight  that  demoiselle 

*  I  pray  that  He  be  not  wroth,  my  Lord, 
If  e'en  as  water  springs  forth  from  well 
I  pour  forth,  raving,  a  witless  word! 
My  heart  with  sorrow  doth  in  me  swell, 
I  put  me  in  His  misericorde, 

Rebuke  me  not  with  words  so  fell 
Tho'  I  transgress,  O  thou  child  adored! 

But  comfort  me  kindly,  O,  gentle  maid! 
In  piteous  wise  think  thou  aye  on  this, 
Sorrow  and  me  hast  thou  comrades  made 
Who  erewhile  wast  the  source  of  all  my  bliss  1' 
[   202  ] 


^mt 


32 

*Both  hast  thou  been,  my  bliss,  my  bane, 
Yet  much  the  greater,  I  ween,  my  moan, 
Since  thou  hast  banished  from  field  and  fane 
I  wist  not  whither  my  pearl  had  gone. 
Now  that  I  see  her,  my  grief  doth  wane, 
But  when  we  parted  we  were  at  one, 
God  forbid  we  should  now  be  twain 
Who  meet  so  seldom  by  stock  or  stone! 

Tho'  thou  canst  rede  me  such  courteous  rede 
But  mortal  am  I,  and  my  joy  I  miss, 
Christ,  Mary,  and  John,  help  me  at  my  need. 
For  they  are  the  ground  of  all  my  bliss ! 

33 

'In  bliss  I  see  thee  wrapt  so  fair, 
And  I  a  man  who  be  Sorrow's  mate, 
Methinks  it  doth  cause  thee  little  care 
That  oft  I  suffer  both  harm  and  hate. 
But  since  in  thy  presence  once  more  I  fare 
I  here  beseech  thee,  nor  make  debate. 
That  thou  should'st  tell  me,  nor  longer  spare, 
The  life  thou  dost  early  lead,  and  late. 

For  I  am  well  pleased  that  thine  estate 
Be  changed  to  worship  and  weal,  I  wis. 
Of  my  joy,  't  is  henceforth  the  entrance  gate, 
And  steadfast  groundwork  of  all  my  bliss  1' 
[  203   ] 


{piavt 


34 

*Fair  Sir,  may  bliss  thee  now  betide,' 
So  spake  that  maiden  of  lovesome  cheer, 
*Thou  art  welcome  here  to  walk  and  bide 
For  now  thy  speech  is  to  me  right  dear. 
A  masterful  mood,  and  o'erweening  pride 
I  tell  thee  are  heartily  hated  here. 
My  Lord  hath  no  liking  His  folk  to  chide, 
Meek  be  the  dwellers  His  throne  anear! 

And  when  in  His  palace  thou  shalt  appear 
Worship  Him  well,  in  all  humbleness, 
For  my  Lord,  the  Lamb,  loveth  aye  such  cheer, 
And  He  is  the  ground  of  all  my  bliss! 

35 
*A  blissful  life,  thou  sayest,  have  I, 
The  manner  thereof  thou  art  fain  to  hear,  — 
When  thy  pearl  was  lost  thus  grievously 
Short  was  the  tale  of  my  childhood's  year. 
But  my  Lord,  the  Lamb,  thro'  His  Godhead  high. 
He  drew  me  in  marriage  Himself  anear, 
In  length  of  days  that  endureth  aye 
Hath  He  crowned  me  queen,  in  blissful  cheer. 
And  each  Beloved  doth  hold  in  fee 
All  His  heritage  —  I  am  wholly  His, 
His  praise.  His  glory.  His  worth,  they  be 
The  root,  and  the  groundwork  of  all  my  bliss!' 
[  204  1 


(JJearf 


VIII  36 

'Blest  Maid,'  quoth  I,  'can  this  be  true? 
(Be  not  displeased  if  amiss  I  speak). 
Art  thou  the  queen  of  the  Heavens  blue 
Whose  honour  the  whole  round  world  doth  seek? 
We  believe  in  Mary,  from  whom  Grace  grew, 
Who  bare  a  Babe,  while  yet  Maiden  meek. 
Who  her  coronal  fair  may  aye  undo 
Save  one  who  may  higher  honour  seek? 

Yet  for  her  sweetness  beyond  compare 

We  call  her  the  Phoenix  of  Araby; 

That  bird,  so  faultless  of  form,  and  fair, 

Is  like  to  the  Queen  of  Courtesy  1' 

37 

*0,  Courteous  Queen  1'  so  that  blest  one  said, 
Kneeling  adown,  with  hidden  face, 
'Matchless  Mother,  and  blissful  Maid, 
Blessed  Beginner  of  all  our  grace,'  — 
Then  she  rose  again,  and  stood  alway. 
And  turned  to  me  in  that  space; 
'Here  many  seekers  their  search  may  stay. 
There  is  never  usurper  in  all  this  place! 

That  Empress  she  ruleth  at  her  behest. 
Heaven,  Earth,  and  Hell,  'neath  her  sway  they  be, 
And  none  her  heritage  will  contest 
For  she  is  the  Queen  of  Courtesy  I  *  . 
[  205  ] 


^taxt 


38 

*The  living  God,  in  His  kingdom  fair 

And  royal  court,  hath  this  ordering, 

All  who  within  those  courts  repair 

Of  all  the  realm  are  they  queen  or  king. 

Yet  one  taketh  not  his  brother's  share, 

Each  is  fain  of  the  other's  prospering, 

And  would  wish  their  crown  five  times  as  fair 

If  so  they  might  greater  honour  bring. 

But  the  Mother  of  Jesus,  our  Lady  sweet, 
She  holdeth  o'er  all  of  us  empire  high, 
And  all  our  host  do  but  find  it  meet 
Since  she  is  the  Queen  of  Courtesy  1 

39 
*By  courtesy,  so  Saint  Paul  hath  said, 
Of  the  Body  of  Christ  are  we  members  all, 
As  arms  and  leg,  and  trunk,  and  head, 
All  limbs  of  this  body  ye  truly  call. 
So  each  Christian  soul  is  numbered 
As  a  member  of  Him  who  is  Lord  of  all,  — 
Now  think,  were  ye  not  full  sore  bestead 
Did  envy  betwixt  thy  limbs  befall? 

Tho'  thou  deck  with  rings  thine  arm  and  hand 
Thy  head  it  doth  neither  carp  nor  cry; 
So  fare  we  with  joy,  a  loving  band, 
To  our  King,  and  our  Queen,  by  courtesy  1* 
[  206  1 


{pmt 


40 
Then  quoth  I,  'Courtesy,  I  believe 
And  Charity  true,  dwell  your  ranks  among. 
Yet,  tho'  I  fear  such  words  may  grieve, 
Methinks  what  thou  sayest  must  now  be  wrong; 
Too  high  thy  rank,  so  I  now  conceive. 
For  Queen  art  thou  surely  over  young. 
What  greater  honour  might  they  achieve 
Who  in  this  world's  strife  had  battled  long. 
Or  lived  in  penance  their  live-long  days 
Thro'  bodily  bale  their  bliss  to  buy. 
What  greater  honour  their  meed  always 
Than  thus  to  be  crowned  in  Courtesy?' 

IX  41 

*Too  lavish  that  courtesy  is,  indeed. 
If  that  be  truth  thou  but  now  didst  say. 
Two  years  didst  thou  wear  this  mortal  weed, 
God  couldst  thou  neither  please  nor  pray. 
Thou  knew'st  Paternoster  not,  nor  Creed, 
Yet  Queen  wast  thou  crowned  that  self-same  day! 
I  may  not  trow,  so  God  me  speed, 
That  He  hath  wrought  in  so  strange  a  way. 
As  Countess,  Maiden,  it  seemeth  me 
Thy  name  were  fair  upon  Heaven's  high  roll. 
Or  e'en  as  a  lady  of  less  degree, 
But  a  Queen,  that  is  sure  too  high  a  goal!' 
[  207  ] 


(pearf 


42 

*  Never  a  bound  shall  God's  favour  know/ 
Thus  spake  to  me  that  maiden  bright, 
*For  all  is  Truth  that  He  ruleth  so, 
And  He  doeth  nothing  but  what  is  right. 
In  your  missal  Matthew  doth  clearly  shew 
In  the  Gospel  true  of  God,  His  Might, 
How  the  faring  of  man  in  the  world  below 
May  well  be  likened  to  Heaven's  delight. 

For  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  like  to  one 
Who  was  fain  of  his  vineyard  to  take  the  toll, 
For  the  grapes  were  e'en  to  the  ripening  won 
And  't  was  time  of  his  labour  to  reach  the  goal. 

43 

*  The  hirelings  know  well  the  vintage  date^ 
The  lord,  he  ariseth  betimes  that  day. 
He  would  labourers  seek  for  his  fair  estate 
And  some  he  findeth  with  small  delay. 
For  the  price  betwixt  them  they  make  debate. 
At  a  penny  a  day  they  go  their  way; 
They  toil,  and  they  travail,  with  labour  great 
They  cut,  and  they  carry,  and  bind  alway. 
At  undern  the  lord  to  the  market  goes, 
Yet  men  stand  idle  about  the  place; 
"Why  stand  ye  idle?"  He  asketh  those, 
"  Know  ye  not  of  the  day  the  goal  and  grace?" 
[  208  ] 


^iavt 


44 

* "  Ere  dawn  of  day  were  we  hither  won," 
Thus  all  together  they  answer  brought, 
"  Here  have  we  stood  since  rose  the  sun 

Yet  never  a  man  hath  our  labour  sought." 
"  Go  ye  to  my  vineyard  every  one," 

So  spake  the  lord,  in  this  wise  he  wrought, 
,"The  hire  that  be  due  when  the  day  is  run 
That  will  I  pay  ye,  and  stint  ye  naught." 

To  the  vineyard  they  gat  them,  and  laboured  there, 
And  all  day  the  lord  did  new  men  enroll, 
And  ever  anew  to  the  vines  they  fare 
Till  well-nigh  the  day  had  passed  its  goal. 

45 

*  At  close  of  the  day,  at  evensong, 
It  lacked  but  an  hour  to  sunset  tide, 
Yet  there  idle  men  he  saw,  and  strong, 
With  grave  voice  gentle  he  thus  did  chide; 
"Why  stand  ye  idle  the  whole  day  long?" 
They  quoth,  "Our  hiring  we  still  abide;" 
"  Go  ye  to  my  vineyard,  yeomen  young, 
And  labour,  and  do  what  may  best  betide." 
The  sun  was  down,  it  had  waxed  full  late. 
And  shadows  dim  o'er  the  world  did  roll, 
He  bade  the  labourers  their  hire  await. 
For  the  day,  it  had  fully  passed  its  goal. 
[  209  ] 


(peatf 


X  46 

*  The  hour  of  the  day  doth  the  master  know,  - 
And  he  calleth  his  steward,  "  The  time  is  past. 
Give  each  man  the  hire  that  to  him  I  owe,  — 
And  that  no  reproach  upon  me  be  cast. 
Range  one  and  all  of  them  in  a  row. 
And  give  each  one  as  he  bargained  fast, 
Beginning  with  him  who  standeth  low,  — 
To  each  man  a  penny,  the  first  as  last.'* 

But  then  the  first,  they  did  thus  complain. 
Saying,  "  The  heat  of  the  day  we  bore. 
These  have  felt  but  one  hour  the  stress  and  strain, 
It  seemeth  to  us  we  should  have  the  more." 

47 

*"More  we  deserve,  it  doth  seem  us  so, 

Who  have  borne  the  heat  of  the  live-long  day, 
Than  these,  who  have  wrought  of  hours  scarce  two, 
Yet  thou  makest  them  equal  to  us  alway!" 
The  master  to  answer  was  not  slow, 
"Friend,  what  wrong  have  I  done  thee,  say? 
Take  what  is  thine  of  the  steward,  and  go. 
That  which  thou  bargained  for  will  I  pay. 

Was  not  a  penny  a  day  thy  hire!* 

Why  should'st  thou  threaten  and  chafe  thus  sore? 

More  than  his  bargain  may  none  desire. 

Why  thinkest  thou  then  to  ask  me  more?'* 

[  210  ] 


(peotf 


48 

* "  Is  it  not  fairer,  my  gift  so  free, 

When  I  deal  with  mine  own  as  doth  seem  me  due? 

Doth  thine  eye  to  evil  turn  willingly 

Because  I  was  righteous,  nor  trickery  knew? 

And  thus,"  quoth  Christ,"  shall  it  ever  be. 

The  last  shall  be  first,  so  I  tell  ye  true, 

And  the  first  the  last,  so  swift  he  be. 

For  the  called  be  many,  the  chosen  few! 

Thus  the  poor  in  the  Kingdom  have  their  share, 
Tho'  they  came  but  late,  and  but  little  bore, 
Their  labour  availed  them  but  little  there 
But  the  mercy  of  God  was  so  much  the  more." 

49 

More  have  I  of  joy  and  of  bliss  herein 
Of  worship  high,  and  of  life's  fair  bloom, 
Than  all  the  men  in  the  world  might  win 
Tho'  in  righteous  payment  they  claim  such  doom. 
'T  was  well  nigh  night  when  I  came  within. 
I  won  to  the  vineyard  in  twilight  gloom. 
Yet  my  Lord  did  His  payment  with  me  begin. 
Full  payment  was  mine,  and  that  right  soon. 
Yet  to  others  a  longer  term  is  set. 
They  have  toiled  and  travailed,  I  ween,  of  yore. 
But  naught  of  their  hire  have  they  touched  as  yet, 
And  none  may  they  have  for  a  year  or  more." ' 
[  211  ] 


{ptaxt 


so 
Then  out  I  spake,  and  this  word  did  say, 
*I  find  all  reasonless  thy  tale, 
God's  law,  it  is  fixed,  and  set  alway, 
Else  Holy  Writ  be  of  small  avail. 
A  verse  in  the  Psalter  doth  clear  away 
Doubt  from  this  point,  did  doubt  assail, 
"  Each  one  as  he  merits  thou  shalt  repay. 
Thou  high  King,  whose  wisdom  doth  never  fail!" 
Now,  hath  one  laboured  the  whole  day  thro' 
And  thus  pass  to  thy  payment  that  man  before, 
Then  he  winneth  the  more  who  the  less  shall  do, 
And  ever  the  longer,  the  less  hath  more.' 

XI  51 

'  'T  wixt  more  and  less  in  God's  Kingdom  free,* 

That  maiden  quoth,  'is  there  full  accord. 

For  there  each  man,  he  is  paid  in  fee, 

Or  much  or  little  be  his  reward. 

Our  gentle  Chief  is  not  niggardly, 

Whether  He  dealeth  soft  or  hard. 

As  deluge  from  dyke  His  gifts  they  be, 

Or  streams  from  a  deep  that  may  ne'er  be  stored! 
He  winneth  full  freedom  who  serveth  well 
Him,  who  wrought  us  a  rescue  from  sin,  I  trow. 
No  bliss  shall  be  ever  from  him  withheld, 
For  the  grace  of  God,  it  is  great  enow! 
[  212  ] 


^taxt 


52 

*  But  now  thou  would'st  me  here  checkmate 
In  that  I  my  penny  have  wrongly  ta'en, 
Thou  sayest,  in  sooth,  I  came  too  late 
Such  reward  I  may  not  of  right  attain. 
When  knewest  thou  mortal,  or  soon,  or  late, 
Who  waxed  so  holy  thro'  prayer  and  pain 
But  that  he  did  in  some  wise  abate 
The  measure  meet  of  his  heavenly  gain? 
And  aye  the  oftener  as  years  wax  late 
Do  they  leave  the  right,  and  the  wrong  allow, 
Mercy  and  Grace  needs  must  steer  them  straight 
For  the  grace  of  God,  it  is  great  enowl' 

S3 

But  enough  of  grace  have  the  innocent, 
For  even  so  soon  as  they  see  the  light, 
Thro'  the  waters  of  Baptism,  by  consent, 
Are  they  brought  to  the  vineyard  in  morning  bright. 
But  anon  their  day  is  with  darkness  blent. 
They  needs  must  bow  them  to  Death's  fell  might, 
They  had  wrought  no  wrong  ere  hence  they  went 
His  servants  the  Master  doth  pay  aright. 
They  did  His  behest,  in  His  will  did  stay, 
Why  should  He  their  labour  not  allow. 
And  yield  them  freely  their  first  day's  pay? 
Is  the  grace  of  God  not  great  enow? 
[  213  ] 


(peatr£ 


54 

Full  well  we  know  that  Mankind  so  great 

Was  fashioned  in  perfect  bliss  to  dwell, 

But  our  first  father  forfeited  our  estate 

For  the  taste  of  an  apple  that  pleased  him  well. 

We  all  were  doomed,  in  that  Adam  ate, 

To  die  in  dole,  't  was  of  joy  the  knell, 

Sithen  have  we  fared,  or  soon  or  late. 

To  dwell  for  ever  in  heat  of  Hell. 

But  the  cure  for  our  sorrow,  it  came  with  speed 
When  red  Blood  ran  on  the  rood,  I  trow. 
And  winsome  Water  —  in  our  sore  need 
The  grace  of  God,  it  waxed  great  enow! 

55 
Enough  gushed  forth  from  out  that  well 
Blood  and  Water  from  Wound  so  wide, 
The  Blood  hath  bought  us  from  bale  of  Hell, 
From  the  second  death  doth  that  stream  divide. ' 
The  Water  is  Baptism,  sooth  to  tell. 
By  the  grim  glaive  freed  from  His  stricken  side, 
It  washeth  away  our  guilt  so  fell, 
'T  was  Adam  had  drowned  us  in  Death's  dark  tide. 
'Twixt  us  and  bliss,  in  this  whole  world  round 
Never  a  barrier  standeth  now. 
All  He  withdrew  in  that  bitter  stound. 
The  grace  of  God,  it  was  great  enow! 
[  214  ] 


(pearf 


XII  56 

Grace  enow  any  man  may  have 

Who  sinneth  anew,  an  he  but  repent, 

But  with  sorrow  and  sigh  he  the  boon  must  crave, 

And  abide  the  penance  with  pardon  sent. 

But  reason,  methinks,  doth  ever  save 

By  right  abiding,  the  innocent, 

Forsooth  God  never  such  judgment  gave 

That  any  to  doom  all  guiltless  went! 
The  guilty  man,  if  of  contrite  heart 
Thro'  mercy  may  aye  with  grace  be  dight, 
But  he  in  whom  guile  had  ne'er  part 
As  innocent,  he  is  saved  by  right. 

57 

'Right  thus,  I  know,  doth  stand  the  case 
Two  are  the  men  whom  God  saveth  still; 
The  righteous  man,  he  shall  see  His  face, 
The  harmless  wight,  he  shall  do  His  Will. 
The  Psalmist  saith,  by  God  His  grace, 
"  Lord,  who  shall  climb  Thy  holy  hill, 
Or  dwell  within  Thy  holy  place?" 
Himself  hath  he  answered,  as  read  ye  will  — 
The  hand  that  is  set  to  no  deed  ill. 
The  heart  that  abideth  pure  and  white, 
His  foot  shall  rest  secure  and  still. 
The  Innocent,  he  is  saved  by  right!" 

[215  1 


{ptati 


58 

*Certes,  the  righteous  shall  attain 
That  goodly  pile,  and  that  temple  court,  ^ 
Who  useth  not  his  life  in  vain, 
Nor  e'er  to  deceive  his  neighbour  thought. 
The  righteous,  Solomon  sayeth  plain, 
Shall  with  welcome  fair  to  the  king  be  brought 
His  feet  He  doth  in  straight  paths  constrain, 
And  sheweth  him  how  God's  realm  be  sought. 
As  one  who  saith,  "  Lo,  yon  isle  so  fair! 
Thou  may'st  win  it,  an  thou  be  valiant  wight, 
But  none  without  peril  may  enter  there  "  — 
The  Innocent,  he  is  saved  by  right  1 

59 

*Anent  the  righteous  we  read  alway 
How  in  the  Psalter  King  David  cried; 
"  Condemn  not  thy  servant.  Lord,  I  pray, 
For  no  man  living  is  justified!" 
When  to  that  court  thou  hast  gone  thy  way 
Where  all  our  causes  at  last  be  tried, 
Thy  right,  it  shall  profit  no  whit  that  day, 
By  proof  of  the  words  ye  have  here  descried; 
But  He  that  on  rood  a  sore  death  died. 
With  pierced  hands,  whom  the  spear  did  smite. 
Grant  thee  to  pass  when  thou  art  tried 
By  Innocence,  and  not  by  right! 
[2l6] 


(p^arf 


60 
'He  who  aright  to  read  doth  know- 
Let  him  look  in  the  Book,  and  be  well  aware, 
How  Jesus  aforetime  walked  below 
And  folk  their  bairns  to  His  presence  bare. 
For  the  healing  and  health  that  from  Him  did  flow 
To  touch  the  children  they  prayed  Him  there, 
The  disciples  were  fain  they  should  from  Him  go, 
Through  their  words  of  blame  many  thence  did  fare. 
But  Jesus  thus  sweetly  spake  His  will, 
*'  Suffer  the  children  within  My  sight, 
'  For  such  shall  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  fill"  — 
The  Innocent  is  aye  safe  by  right!' 

XHI  61 

Jesus,  He  called  the  meek  and  mild, 
And  said  His  Kingdom  no  wight  might  win 
Save  that  he  came  as  doth  a  child, 
Nor  otherwise  might  he  enter  in. 
The  harmless,  the  true,  the  undefiled, 
Without  spot  or  blemish  of  staining  sin, 
When  they  knock  at  that  gate,  they  be  not  beguiled, 
Swift  shall  be  raised  of  that  latch  the  pin! 
There  is  the  bliss  that  shall  last  for  aye 
That  the  jeweller  thought  to  find  for  sure 
When  he  sold  his  goods  and  his  garments  gay 
To  buy  him  a  pearl  all  spotless  pure. 

[  217  ] 


(peatf 


62 

This  spotless  pearl  that  was  bought  so  dear, 

The  jeweller  gave  for  it  all  his  good, 

'T  is  like  to  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  clear 

(So  saith  the  Father  of  field  and  flood). 

For  it  is  flawless,  a  shining  sphere. 

Without  end  or  beginning,  and  blithe  of  mood, 

And  free  unto  all  that  righteous  were. 

Lo!  on  my  breast  it  long  hath  stood  — 

My  Lord,  the  Lamb,  He  who  shed  His  blood 
As  token  of  peace  there  hath  set  it  sure 
I  rede  thee  forsake  the  world's  mad  mood, 
And  buy  thee  this  pearl,  so  spotless  pure! 

63 

'O  spotless  Pearl,  in  pearly  sheen. 

That  bearest,'  quoth  I,  'the  pearl  of  price! 

Whence  came  thy  form,  thy  gracious  mien? 

Who  wrought  thy  robe,  he  was  full  wise! 

Nature  such  beauty  ne'er  hath  seen! 

Pygmalion's  skill  wore  not  such  guise, 

Nor  Aristotle,  with  wit  so  keen 

Thy  virtues  varied  might  e'er  devise  — 
Thy  colour  passeth  the  lily  white, 
Thy  mien  as  an  angel's,  calm,  demure. 
Tell  me  what  troth,  O,  Maiden  bright. 
Hath  for  token  that  pearl  so  spotless  pure?' 
[  218  ] 


(ptatt 


64 

*My  spotless  Lamb,  who  makes  all  things  meet. 

With  whom  my  appointed  lot  shall  be, 

Chose  me  as  Bride,  tho'  all  unmeet, 

Long  since  doth  seem  that  festivity! 

When  I  passed  from  your  world,  when  men  sore  greet, 

He  called  me  to  His  felicity, 
"  Come  hither  to  Me,  my  lemman  sweet. 

For  spot  nor  blemish  is  none  in  thee!" 

Thus,  dowered  with  beauty  and  dignity, 
He  washed  my  robe  in  His  blood,  for  sure. 
And  crowning  me  fair  in  virginity. 
He  decked  me  with  spotless  pearls  and  pure!' 

65 
*0,  spotless  Bride,  who  so  fair  doth  flame 

In  royal  array  with  jewels  rife! 

Tell  me,  I  pray,  of  this  Lamb  the  name 

Who  was  fain  to  take  thee  to  Him  as  wife? 

How  above  all  others  did  win  such  fame 

As  to  lead  with  Him  this  queenly  life. 

So  many  a  maiden,  free  from  blame, 

For  Christ  hath  lived  in  toil  and  strife? 

Those  dear  ones  all  hast  thou  set  aside? 
That  marriage  bond  is  for  none  set  sure 
Save  but  for  thyself,  in  thy  virgin  pride, 
Thou  peerless  maiden,  so  spotless  pure?' 

[  219  1 


^iatt 


XIV  66 

'Spotless,  indeed,'  quoth  that  gladsome  queen, 
'Unblemished  am  I,  without  a  blot, 

This  to  maintain  doth  grace  beseem, 

But  a  peerless  queen,  that  said  I  not! 

Brides  of  the  Lamb,  in  bliss  serene, 

Twelve  times  twelve  thousand  by  count,  I  wot, 

Thus  in  Apocalypse  were  they  seen  — 

Saint  John,  he  saw,  and  he  hid  it  not. 

On  the  hill  of  Sion,  that  mount  so  fair. 
The  Apostle  in  vision  beheld  them  then, 
Arrayed  for  the  wedding  feast  they  fare 
To  the  city  of  New  Jerusalem. 

67 
*0f  Jerusalem  will  I  speak  the  spell 
If  thou  would'st  know  what  He  now  shall  be, 
My  Lamb,  my  Lord,  my  fair  Jewel, 
My  Joy,  my  Bliss,  my  Love,  is  He! 
The  prophet  Isaiah  of  Him  doth  tell. 
Of  His  meekness  speaking  full  piteously, 
Whom,  guiltless,  a  traitor  to  Death  did  sell; 
In  Him  was  no  taint  of  felony! 

As  a  Lamb  to  the  slaughter  was  He  brought, 
As  Sheep  to  the  shearer  they  led  Him  then. 
To  all  that  they  asked  Him  He  answered  naught, 
When  judged  by  the  Jews  in  Jerusalem! 
[  220  ] 


{ptaxt 


68 

In  Jerusalem  was  my  True  Love  slain, 

Rent  on  the  Rood  by  ruffians  bold, 

Our  bale  to  bear  was  He  ever  fain, 

He  took  on  Himself  our  cares  so  cold. 

With  blows  and  spitting  His  face  they  stain. 

That  erst  was  so  comely  to  behold; 

For  Sin  He  counted  Himself  as  vain 

Tho'  never  a  sin  to  His  count  were  told! 
Bonds  and  scourging  for  us  He  bare, 
And  stretched  Himself  on  the  rood's  rough  beam; 
Meek  as  a  Lamb  did  He  silent  fare 
When  He  suffered  for  us  In  Jerusalem. 

69 
'Jerusalem,  Jordan,  and  Galilee, 
There  John  the  Baptist  his  office  wrought. 
His  words  with  Isaiah's  did  well  agree 
When  Jesus  anon  for  his  laving  sought. 
For  he  spake  of  Him  this  prophesie, 
"Lo,  the  Lamb  of  God,  who  faileth  naught! 
But  from  every  sin  will  set  ye  free 
That  ye  in  this  world  have  witless  wrought!" 
Never  a  sin  to  His  count  befell. 
Yet  He  to  the  guilt  of  all  laid  claim. 
His  generations  what  tongue  can  tell 
Who  suffered  for  us  in  Jerusalem? 
[  221  ] 


^taxt 


70 

*  In  Jerusalem  thus  my  True  Love  sweet 
Twice  as  a  Lamb  was  accounted  there, 
By  record  of  prophet  true  and  meet, 
In  such  meekness  and  gentleness  did  He  fare! 
A  third  time  as  Lamb  we  shall  Him  greet, 
The  Apocalypse  here  doth  witness  bear, 
In  the  midst  of  the  Throne  He  hath  His  seat, 
As  John  the  Apostle  doth  declare. 

He  opened  the  Book,  and  the  seals  He  brake, 
The  seven  seals,  He  hath  broken  them, 
The  boldest  heart  at  that  sight  must  quake 
In  Hell,  in  Earth,  in  Jerusalem! 

XV  71 

*This  Lamb  of  Jerusalem  hath  no  stain. 
His  hue.  It  is  white  beyond  compare, 
Blemish,  or  spot,  would  ye  seek  in  vain 
In  that  wool  so  shining,  so  rich,  and  rare! 
Thus  the  soul  that  from  sin  doth  here  refrain 
For  that  Lamb  is  a  fitting  mate,  and  fair, 
Tho'  each  day  He  addeth  unto  His  train 
No  envy  doth  one  to  the  other  bear. 

Yea,  we  would  that  each  one  were  waxen  five 
The  more,  the  gladder,  so  God  me  bless. 
Our  love  shall  ever  in  concourse  thrive. 
Our  honour  wax  greater,  and  never  less! 
[  222  ] 


(peatrf 


72 

*  Less  of  bliss  may  we  never  win 
Who  bear  this  pearl  upon  our  breast, 
For  they  who  have  known  no  stain  of  sin 
They  carry  this  spotless  pearl  as  crest. 
Our  bodies  are  wrapped  cold  clay  within, 
And  for  ruth  and  rue  ye  may  find  no  rest, 

;  But  knowledge  of  all  is  ours  herein. 
And  our  Hope  is  all  to  one  Death  addrest. 

The  Lamb  doth  rejoice  us,  our  care  is  past, 
With  Him  do  we  feed  in  gladsomeness. 
Full  measure  of  honour  hath  first  and  last, 
And  no  one's  bliss  is  one  whit  the  less. 

73 

*  Lest  fantasy  thou  should'st  deem  my  tale 
Apocalypse  doth  the  truth  declare, 

"  I  saw,"  quoth  Saint  John,  "  withouten  fail. 
The  Lamb  on  Mount  Sion  stand  free  and  fair. 
And  with  Him  were  maidens,  a  goodly  tale. 
Twelve  times  twelve  thousand,  and  each  one  ware 
On  her  forehead  the  Name  that  shall  aye  avail. 
To  the  Lamb,  and  His  Father  she  witness  bare. 
A  Voice  from  Heaven  I  heard  o'er  all. 
Like  streams  o'erladen  that  run  in  stress, 
Or  as  thunder  bolts  mid  the  rocks  that  fall, 
That  sound,  I  trow,  was  never  the  less! 
[  223  ] 


(peatf 


74 

* "  Never-the-less  tho'  it  rushed  and  rang 

And  struck  full  loudly  upon  mine  ear, 

A  newer  note  those  maidens  sang 

I  wis  that  strain  to  my  heart  was  dear! 

As  a  harper  harpeth  the  guests  among, 

So  they  sang  that  song,  and  I  needs  must  hear 

How  in  ringing  notes  a  maiden  young 

Led  the  strain  which  they  followed  with  voices  clear; 
Yea,  e'en  as  they  stood  before  God's  Throne 
With  the  elders  grave  in  righteousness. 
And  the  wondrous  Beasts  who  His  lordship  own, 
The  sound  of  their  song  was  ne'er  the  less! 

75 
* "  Never  a  man  should  be  found  so  wise, 
For  all  the  craft  that  he  ever  knew. 
Of  that  song  the  burden  to  devise 
Save  they  who  the  track  of  the  Lamb  pursue. 
For  they  are  redeemed  from  Earth's  alloys, 
As  first-fruits  to  God  are  they  wholly  due. 
And  like  to  the  gentle  Lamb  in  guise 
Are  they  joined  unto  Him  in  union  true. 
For  never  a  falsehood,  or  lying  boast 
Have  touched  their  tongue  for  strain  or  stress, 
The  bonds  that  bind  that  spotless  host 
To  their  Spotless  Lord  shall  ne'er  be  less!"' 
[  224  ] 


(peare 


76 

*Never-the-less  are  my  thanks,'  quoth  I, 

*  My  Pearl,  if  a  query  I  still  propose, 

And  be  fain  still  thy  knowledge  deep  to  try, 
'T  was  Christ  who  thee  of  His  household  chose. 
'Midst  dust  and  ashes  my  home  have  I, 
And  thou  art  so  rich  and  so  royal  a  rose, 
Thou  dwellest  this  blissful  bank  anigh 
Where  life's  delights  thou  shalt  never  lose. 

Oh,  simple  of  heart,  and  of  gracious  tongue, 
One  wish  would  I  fain  to  thee  express, 
And  tho'  I  be  churlish  all  churls  among, 
Let  my  prayer  avail  me,  none  the  less! 

XVI  77 

*  Never- the-less,  I  upon  thee  call, 

An  thou  see  it  fitting,  O,  Maiden  fair! 

Glorious  and  spotless  art  thou  withal, 

Deny  me  not  this  piteous  prayer! 

Have  ye  no  dwelling  in  castle  wall? 

No  manor  wherein  ye  meet,  and  fare? 

Thou  speak'st  of  Jerusalem's  royal  hall 

Where  David  the  crown  as  monarch  ware. 
Yet  by  these  woods  it  may  never  be. 
In  Judaea  that  city  doth  stand,  I  wot. 
Beneath  the  moon  ye  from  stain  are  free 
And  your  dwelling  should  be  without  a  spot! 
[  22s  ] 


^iAtt 


78 

*0f  a  spotless  throng  thou  tellest  me, 
Twelve  times  twelve  thousand,  a  countless  rout, 
A  city  great,  so  many  ye  be, 
Ye  needs  must  have,  without  a  doubt. 
Fair  cluster  of  precious  jewels  are  ye, 
'T  were  ill  if  any  should  lie  without, 
Yet  I  fare  by  these  banks,  and  it  seemeth  me, 
No  dwelling  standeth  here  about? 

I  trow  thou  but  lingerest  here  a  space 
For  the  beauty  Nature  doth  here  allot, 
'  If  thou  hast  elsewhere  an  abiding  place 
I  prithee  lead  me  to  that  glad  spotl' 

79 
'The  spot  thou  speakest  of  in  Judaea,* 
The  fragrant  fair,  in  this  wise  she  spake, 
*Is  the  city  to  which  the  Lamb  drew  near. 
Therein  did  He  suffer  for  all  men's  sake. 
Of  the  old  Jerusalem  speak  we  here 
Where  Christ  the  chain  of  old  guilt  did  break, 
But  the  New,  which  by  God's  grace  shall  appear 
The  Apostle  John  for  his  theme  doth  take. 
Thither  the  Lamb,  without  dusky  stain. 
Hath  led  His  folk,  and  hath  tarried  not, 
And  as  that  flock  without  flaw  remain. 
So  His  city  shall  be  without  a  spot  — 
[  226  ] 


^iAtt 


80 

*Certes,  we  speak  of  cities  twain, 
Natheless  Jerusalem  both  are  hight, 
The  meaning  for  thee  doth  aye  remain, 
"  The  City  of  God,"  or  "  Of  Peace  the  site." 
In  the  first  our  peace  was  won  again,  — 
In  pain  to  suffer  the  Lamb  deemed  right. 
In  the  other,  I  ween,  Peace  doth  hold  her  reign, 
With  never  a  check  to  her  ceaseless  might. 

'T  is  to  that  burg  that  we  haste  with  speed 
When  our  flesh  in  clay  is  laid  to  rot, 
There  glory  and  bliss  shall  aye  exceed 
For  that  host  that  be  ever  without  a  spot!' 

81 

*0,  spotless  maiden,  of  gentle  grace!* 
Thus  I  besought  the  winsome  flower, 
*  Bring  me,  I  pray,  to  that  goodly  place. 
Let  me  behold  thy  blissful  bower!' 
Spake  that  bright  one,  who  ever  beholds  God's  face, 
*Thou  mayest  not  enter  within  this  tower. 
But  by  grace  of  the  Lamb,  for  a  little  space, 
With  the  sight  of  that  city  He  will  thee  dower. 
The  outward  form  of  that  cloister  clean 
May'st  thou  see,  but  thy  strength  availeth  not 
To  set  thy  foot  on  its  streets,  I  ween. 
Save  thou  be  stainless,  with  ne'er  a  spot. 
[  227  ] 


(peatf 


XVII  82 

'If  I  this  city  to  thee  unveil 

Then  bend  thou  towards  this  streamlet's  head 

Till  thou  see'st  a  hill  —  I,  without  fail, 

Will  follow  beyond  this  river  bed.' 

I  tarried  not,  but  along  the  vale, 

Thro'  leafy  thickets  I  swiftly  sped, 

Till  lo,  the  burg  did  my  sight  assail 

As  it  stood  on  a  hill,  fair  fashioned! 

Beyond  the  brook,  and  away  from  me, 
Than  sunbeam  brighter  that  city  shone, 
In  Apocalypse  may  ye  its  fashion  see 
As  well  deviseth  th'  Apostle  John. 

83 

As  John,  the  Apostle,  beheld  with  sight 
So  saw  I  that  city  of  goodly  fame, 
Jerusalem,  New,  all  royally  dight. 
As  if  from  Heaven  but  now  it  came. 
The  burg  was  of  burnished  gold  so  bright, 
As  glittering  glass  was  it  all  aflame, 
Fair  gems  beneath  it  gave  forth  their  light, 
And  pillars  twelve  did  its  groundv/ork  frame. 
The  foundations  twelve,  full  rich  they  were. 
Each  slab  was  wrought  of  a  single  stone. 
So  well  doth  picture  that  city  fair 
In  Apocalypse,  the  Apostle  John! 
[  228  ] 


^mt 


84 

As  John,  he  hath  named  them,  those  stones  so  fair 

After  his  numbering  their  names  I  knew, 

Jasper  it  hight,  the  first  gem  there, 

On  the  first  foundation  't  was  plain  to  view. 

It  glistened  green  on  the  lowest  stair; 

The  second  was  held  by  Sapphire  blue; 

A  spotless  Chalcedony,  and  rare. 

Gleamed  on  the  third  with  purest  hue. 

The  fourth  was  Emerald,  glowing  green, 

Sardonyx  shone  the  fifth  upon. 

The  sixth,  a  Ruby,  as  well  hath  seen 

In  Apocalypse  the  Apostle  John. 

85 

To  these  John  added  the  Chrysolite, 

The  seventh  gem  in  foundation  stone; 

The  eighth,  the  Beryl,  so  softly  bright, 

The  twin-hued  Topaz,  the  ninth  upon. 

The  tenth,  it  was  Chrysopraseis  hight, 

The  eleventh  of  Jacinth  fair  alone. 

Then  fairest,  as  blue  of  Ind  its  light. 

The  purple  Amethyst  gleamed  and  shone. 
Of  gleaming  Jasper  I  saw  the  wall 
As  it  stood  those  pillars  twelve  upon. 
So  well  hath  he  drawn  it,  I  knew  it  all, 
In  Apocalypse,  the  Apostle  John! 
[  229  ] 


^taxt 


86 
As  John  had  devised  I  saw  the  stair. 
Broad  and  steep  were  its  steps,  I  ween, 
The  city,  it  stood  above,  four  square. 
In  length,  breadth,  and  height  was  it  equal  seen. 
The  streets  of  gold,  as  glass  they  were, 
The  wall  of  jasper,  with  amber  sheen. 
The  walls  within,  they  were  decked  full  fair 
With  every  gem  of  ray  serene. 

And  every  side  of  this  city  good 
Twelve  furlongs  full,  ere  its  end  were  won, 
In  length,  breadth,  and  height.  It  equal  stood, 
As  he  saw  it  measured,  the  Apostle  John! 

XVIII  87 

As  John  hath  written,  I  more  might  see, 

Three  gates  had  that  city  on  every  side. 

Thus  twelve  I  reckoned,  in  four  times  three, 

And  rich  plates  they  decked  each  portal  wide. 

Each  gate  was  a  pearl  of  purity, 

A  perfect  pearl,  that  shall  aye  abide. 

On  each  one  the  name,  in  right  degree, 

Of  Israel's  sons  might  be  there  descried. 

That  is  to  say,  as  their  birthright  bade, 
The  eldest  was  writ  the  first  upon, 
Such  light  thro'  the  ways  of  that  city  played 
The  dwellers  they  needed  nor  moon,  nor  sun! 

[  230  ] 


(pearl! 


88 

Of  sun  nor  moon  had  they  never  need, 
For  God  Himself  was  their  lamp  of  light, 
The  Lamb  a  lantern,  their  steps  to  lead, 
Thro'  Him  all  that  burg  beamed  fair  and  bright. 
Thro'  wall  and  dwelling  my  glance  might  speed. 
So  clear  was  it,  naught  might  impede  my  sight, 
The  High  Throne  there  ye  well  might  heed, 
With  royal  apparelling  all  bedight! 

As  in  the  words  of  Saint  John  I  read. 

The  High  God  Himself  sat  upon  that  Throne, 

A  river  swift  from  beneath  it  sped, 

'T  was  brighter  than  either  sun  or  moon! 

89 

Sun  nor  moon  had  so  bright  a  ray 
As  that  flood  in  the  fulness  of  its  flow. 
Swift  it  surged  thro'  the  city's  way 
Nor  mud  nor  mire  did  its  waters  show. 
Church  therein  was  there  none  alway. 
Chapel  nor  temple,  raised  arow, 
The  Lamb  is  their  sacrifice  night  and  day 
And  God  for  their  temple  and  priest  they  know. 
Never  the  gates  of  that  burg  they  close. 
To  every  lane  may  a  way  be  won, 
But  none  may  enter  its  fair  repose 
Who  beareth  spot,  'neath  moon  or  sun! 

[  231  ] 


{ptatt 


90 

For  there  the  moon  may  not  wax  in  might,  - 
Of  substance  dark,  she  yet  spots  doth  bear, 
And  e'en  as  that  burg  ne'er  knoweth  night 
What  need  for  the  moon  on  her  course  to  fare,  — 
And  to  measure  herself  with  that  goodly  light 
That  beyond  the  river  shineth  there? 
The  planets  they  be  in  too  poor  a  plight, 
And  the  sun  itself  may  not  make  compare! 
By  that  water's  course  stand  trees  so  fair. 
Twelve  fruits  of  life  do  they  bear  eftsoon, 
Twelve  times  each  year  they  blossom  and  bear, 
And  their  fruit  waxeth  new  at  every  moon! 

91 

No  spirit  of  man  'neath  the  moon's  pale  rays 

So  great  a  marvel  might  aye  endure. 

As  when  on  that  burg  I  fixed  my  gaze, 

So  wondrous  its  fashion,  and  fair  allure! 

I  stood  as  still  as  quail  a-daze 

For  wonder  before  that  vision  pure. 

The  glamour  so  ravished  me  with  amaze 

Nor  rest,  nor  travail,  I  felt  for  sure! 

This  I  dare  say  in  good  conscience  still,  - 
Had  man  in  the  body  received  that  boon 
Tho'  all  clerks  for  his  care  had  spent  their  skill 
His  life  had  been  forfeit  beneath  the  moon! 

[  232  ] 


(peatrf 


XIX  92 

E'en  as  when  the  moon  at  her  full  doth  rise 

Ere  yet  hath  been  lost  the  gleam  of  day, 

So,  sudden,  I  saw  in  a  wondrous  wise 

A  fair  procession  that  took  its  way. 

This  noble  city,  of  rich  emprise, 

With  never  summons,  with  no  delay, 

Was  full  of  virgins  in  self-same  guise 

As  my  sweet  one,  in  crown  of  pearly  ray. 

And  each  was  in  self-same  fashion  crowned, 
Bedecked  with  pearls,  in  weeds  of  white, 
On  each  one's  breast  I  saw  it  bound, 
That  goodly  pearl  of  fair  delight! 

93 

They  stepped  all  together  in  great  delight 
On  the  golden  ways,  by  that  living  stream; 
Hundred  thousands,  I  ween,  their  might. 
And  their  robes  did  all  af  one  fashion  seem. 
Who  was  gladdest,  none  might  discern  aright  — 
With  seven  horns  of  red  golden  beam 
The  Lamb  before  them  passed  —  all  white 
His  robes,  like  precious  pearls  their  gleam. 

Toward  the  Throne  on  their  way  they  pass, 
Tho'  many  they  were,  they  moved  aright. 
And  thronged  not,  but  meekly  as  maids  at  mass 
They  fared  in  order,  with  great  delight! 
[  233  ] 


^tatt 


94 

Delight  the  more  at  His  coming  grew 

Too  great  for  tongue  of  man  to  tell, 

The  elders  all  when  He  nearer  drew 

Prostrate  before  the  Throne  they  fell. 

Legions  of  angels  the  summons  knew, 

Incense  they  scattered,  of  sweetest  smell. 

Glory  and  gladness  were  raised  anew, 

And  joyous  songs  for  that  Jewel  well. 

The  strain  might  smite  thro'  Earth  to  Hell 
That  Virtues,  and  Powers,  in  Heaven  recite; 
To  love  the  Lamb,  and  His  praise  to  tell, 
Therefrom  did  I  win  a  great  delight! 

95 

Delight  and  wonder  within  me  fought 

When  I  fain  would  picture  that  Lamb  so  dear. 

Best  was  He,  blithest,  most  hardly  sought, 

That  ever  in  words  I  think  to  hear. 

His  vesture  of  purest  white  was  wrought, 

Himself  so  gentle.  His  glance  so  clear; 

But  a  bleeding  Wound,  and  wide,  methought. 

Cleft  thro'  His  Side,  His  Heart  anear. 

Forth  from  that  Wound  the  Blood  flowed  fast, 
Alas,  I  thought  who  did  this  despite? 
His  breast  of  Hell-fires  should  feel  the  blast 
Ere  that  in  such  doing  he  found  delight! 

[  234  ] 


^m( 


96 

The  Lamb's  delight  none  might  doubt,  I  ween, 

Altho'  He  were  hurt,  and  wounded  sore, 

In  His  countenance  naught  thereof  was  seen 

Of  glorious  gladness  the  mien  He  wore. 

I  looked  upon  that  host's  fair  sheen 

Dowered  with  life  for  evermore, 

And  lo,  I  saw  there  my  little  queen, 

Who,  methought,  stood  e'en  on  that  streamlet's  shore. 
Ah,  Christ!  what  gladness  and  mirth  she  made 
Among  her  companions  she  shone  so  white, 
The  sight,  it  urged  me  the  stream  to  wade 
For  love,  and  longing,  and  great  delight! 

XX  97 

Delight  it  smote  me  thro'  ear  and  eye, 
My  mortal  mind  was  in  madness  cast. 
When  I  saw  my  fair  one,  I  would  be  nigh 
Tho'  beyond  the  stream  she  were  held  full  fast. 
No  power  was  there  that  I  might  descry 
To  check  me,  and  hold,  ere  the  stream  be  past, 
And  if  none  withheld  me  that  flood  to  try 
I  would  swim  the  rest,  if  I  drowned  at  last! 
But  from  that  counsel  I  soon  was  caught 
E'en  as  the  water  I  would  assay. 
To  another  mood  was  I  swiftly  brought. 
This  were  not  fitting  my  Prince's  pay! 

[  235  ] 


^mi 


98 

It  had  pleased  Him  not  myself  to  fling 

By  madness  spurred,  o'er  that  wondrous  mere, 

Tho'  in  rushing  race  I  would  make  my  spring 

E'en  as  I  came  to  that  bank  anear. 

My  steps  to  a  halt  I  needs  must  bring  — 

My  haste  had  shattered  my  vision  sheer, 

Where  my  form  in  grief  to  the  earth  did  cling, 

There  I  awoke,  in  that  arbour  dear! 

There,  where  my  pearl  to  ground  had  strayed, 
I  arose,  and  I  fell,  in  great  dismay, 
And  sighing  sore,  to  myself  I  said, 
'Now  all  shall  be  to  that  Prince's  payl' 

99 

Full  ill  it  pleased  me  to  be  out  cast 

So  suddenly,  from  that  realm  so  fair. 

From  that  blissful  vision,  so  soon  o'erpast  — 

For  longing  I  fell  a-swooning  there! 

And  with  rueful  voice  made  lament  full  fast. 
'O,  Pearl! '  quoth  I,  'so  rich  and  rare,  ^ 

Fair  was  that  vision  I  saw  at  last. 

And  dear  those  tidings  thou  didst  declare: 
And  if  it  be  true  of  very  sooth 
That  thou  farest  thus,  in  garland  gay, 
'T  is  well  with  me  in  this  house  of  ruth. 
Since  thou  art  fair  to  that  Prince's  pay!' 
[  236  1 


(pearf 


lOO 

Had  I  to  that  Prince's  pleasure  bent, 
And  craved  no  more  than  to  me  was  given, 
And  held  me  there  with  true  intent 
As  my  Pearl  besought,  who  so  fair  hath  thriven, 
Then,  drawn  to  God's  presence,  by  His  consent, 
The  veil  of  His  mysteries  had  been  riven; 
But  man  with  his  bliss  is  ne'er  content, 
But  asketh  more  than  may  well  be  given! 
Therefore  my  joy  was  the  sooner  crost, 
I  was  thrust  from  the  realm  of  endless  day, 
Christ!  They  in  madness  their  toil  have  lost 
Who  proffer  thee  aught  save  what  be  thy  pay! 

lOI 

To  please  that  Prince  is  a  task  full  light 

For  the  Christian  soul,  —  to  His  peace  they  wend  — 

For  I  have  found  Him  by  day  and  night, 

A  God,  a  Lord,  and  a  faithful  Friend. 

On  a  hill  did  this  lot  upon  me  light 

When  grief  for  my  pearl  I  might  not  amend. 

In  the  blessing  of  Christ,  my  gem  so  white 

To  God's  good  keeping  I  now  commend. 

Christ,  who  in  form  of  Bread  and  Wine, 
The  priest  shews  forth  to  us  day  by  day. 
Keep  us  as  household  folk  of  Thine, 
As  precious  pearls  for  our  Prince's  pay! 
Amen,  Amen. 


t^t  (Vmon  of  (pirn  t^t  (pfoi»man 


Z^t  (Pinion  of  ^kxB  i^t  (pfoi^man 

PROLOGUE 

All  in  a  summer  season,  whenas  the  sun  shone  fair, 
I  clad  me  in  a  cere-cloth,  e'en  as  a  sheep  I  were, 
In  habit  of  a  Hermit,  whose  works  unholy  be. 
Wide  in  the  world  I  wandered,  its  wonders  all  to  see: 
But  all  on  a  May  morning,  on  Malvern's  hills  so  high, 
A  marvel  fair  befell  me,  methought  of  Faerie. 
Weary  was  I  of  wandering,  and  fain  to  rest  that  tide, 
I  sat  me  'neath  a  broad  bank  that  ran  a  burn  beside, 
And  as  I,  leaning,  lay  there,  and  watched  the  water  fleet 
I  slid  into  a  slumber,  the  sound,  it  was  so  sweet. 
And  there  a  Dream  hath  met  me,  a  marvel  strange  and  fair, 
I  deemed  me  in  a  desert,  but  yet  I  knew  not  where. 
As  to  the  East  I  turned  me,  there,  where  the  sun  stood  high, 
I  saw  a  tower  on  hill-top,  well  builded  verily. 
A  deep  dale  lay  beneath  it,  therein  a  dungeon-hold, 
And  dark  and  deep  that  ditch  was,  and  dreadful  to  behold. 
But,  filled  with  folk,  a  fair  field  betwixt  the  two  was  seen, 
Yea,  folk  of  every  fashion,  rich  men  and  poor,  I  ween. 
They  worked,  and  eke  they  wandered,  so  runs  the  world 
?ilway; 

[  241  1 


Z^i  (Pieiott  of  (pter«  (^t  (pfoiomrtn 

Some  set  them  to  the  plough-share,  and  seldom  thought  of 

play, 
In  harrowing  and  sowing  they  gain,  laboriously, 
What  many  of  these  wasters  destroy  in  gluttony. 
And  some,  they  proudly  preen  them,  in  fair  apparel  all, 
In  clothing  quaint  and  cunning  disguise  themselves  withal. 
To  prayer,  I  trow,  and  penance,  many  their  mind  they  give 
And  for  God's  Love,  a  hard  life  on  earth  they  choose  to  live, 
That  Heaven's  bliss,  hereafter,  to  them  be  fully  told  — 
As  Anchorites  and  Hermits,  they  here  their  cells  do  hold, 
And  care  not  thro'  the  country  at  will  to  come  and  go 
Their  livelihood,  as  likes  them,  with  fleshly  joys  to  know. 
And  some  had  chafi'ering  chosen,  the  better  to  achieve, 
So  to  our  sight  it  seemeth,  more  profit  such  receive. 
And  some  make  mirth  as  minstrels,  and  with  their  games  and 

glee 
They  get  them  gold,  yet  guiltless,  I  trow,  such  men  shall  be. 
But  Jesters  all,  and  Jongleurs,  the  sons  of  Judas  they 
By  fantasies  they  flourish,  and  fools  they  make  alway. 
With  wit  at  will  they  're  dowered,  to  work  if  so  they  please  — 
Altho'  for  proof  I  stay  not,  yet  Paul,  he  preached  of  these, 
'Qui  turpiloquium  loquitur  the  Devil  serves  at  ease!* 
And  Beggars  I  beheld  there,  how  fast  afoot  they  fare, 
Till  bags  alike,  and  bellies,  brimful  of  food  they  bear, 
Thus,  for  their  food,  make  feigning,  and  at  their  ale  they 

fight; 
In  gluttony,  God  knoweth,  they  get  to  bed  at  night, 

[  242  ] 


€^i  (Piston  of  {pktB  t^t  (pfoiomcm 

In  ribaldry  arising  —  but  robber-knaves  are  they, 
And  sleep  and  sloth  for  ever  pursue  them  on  their  way. 
Pilgrims  I  saw,  and  Palmers,  a  vow  in  common  speak 
Saint  James  of  Compostella  and  Saints  at  Rome  to  seek; 
Forth  on  their  way  they  gat  them,  with  many  a  wondrous  tale, 
And  leave  to  lie  thereafter,  till  life  and  breath  shall  fail! 
Yea,  and  a  horde  of  Hermits,  with  hooked  staff  in  hand 
To  Walsingham  they  wandered  with  wenches  in  a  band; 
Long  lusty  lubbers  were  they,  and  loath  to  toil  withal. 
But  fain  in  capes  to  clothe  them  that  men  them  'Brother' 

call. 
And  some,  they  made  them  Hermits,  to  take  their  ease  the 

more; 
And  Friars  too,  I  found  there,  all  of  the  Orders  four, 
All  preaching  to  the  people,  for  profit  and  for  food. 
With  glozing  of  the  Gospel,  e'en  as  it  seemed  them  good. 
For,  covetous  of  Capes,  they  construe  their  message  ill, 
And  many  of  these  masters  may  clothe  them  at  their  will; 
The  merchandise  and  money  full  oft  together  thrive 
Since  Charity  turned  trader,  and  chief  the  lords  to  shrive. 
The  marvels  have  been  many,  tho'  but  few  years  be  told! 
Save  Holy  Church  bethink  her,  the  reins  to  better  hold 
Too  fast,  I  trow,  it  mounteth,  most  mischief  upon  mold ! 
A  Pardoner  was  preaching,  as  he  a  priest  should  be, 
A  Bull  he  brought  to  showing,  with  Bishop's  seals  to  see. 
And  said  he  might  assoil  them,  himself,  yea,  here  and  now. 
From  Falseness,  and  from  Fasting,  and  sin  of  broken  vow. 

[  243  ] 


Zh  (Piaton  of  ^kve  (^t  (pfoiowan 

Right  well  the  lewd  men  liked  him,  believed  him  to  the  full, 
And  came  and  knelt  before  him,  and  each  one  kissed  the  Bull, 
Bare  from  the  brief  a  buffet  that  bleared  their  eyes,  I  trow, 
And  thus  the  Bull  hath  brought  him  brooches  and  rings  enow. 
That  gluttony  be  gainer,  methinks  our  gold  we  give, 
On  vagabonds  we  waste  it,  that  they  loose  lives  may  live. 
Nay,  were  the  Bishop  blessed,  and  worth  his  ears  alway 
He  would  not  be  so  daring,  and  thus  his  folk  betray. 
Not  that  I  deem  the  Bishop  alone  the  blame  should  bear. 
For  parish  priest  and  preacher,  the  silver  'twixt  them  share. 
That  were  the  poor  man's  portion,  save  that  those  twain  were 

there ! 
Both  parish  priest  and  parson  to  Bishop  make  their  cry 
That,  since  the  Pest,  their  parish  hath  been  in  poverty. 
And  crave  for  leave  and  licence  in  London  town  to  dwell 
For  Simony  to  sing  there,  since  silver  pleaseth  well ! 
There  hove  in  sight  a  hundred,  in  hoods  of  silken  sheen, 
Serjeants  they  were  by  seeming,  who,  at  the  bar,  I  ween. 
For  pence  will  make  their  pleading,  for  pounds  expound  the 

law 
For  love  of  God  and  Goodness,  their  lips,  they  speak  no  saw  1 
'T  were  easier  to  measure  the  mist  on  Malvern's  hill 
Than  win  a  word  of  counsel  till  they  be  paid  their  fill! 
Both  Bachelor,  and  Bishop,  versed  in  divinity. 
Clerks  of  account  they  make  them,  to  serve  the  King  for  fee. 
Archdeacons,  yea,  and  deacons,  whose  office  high  it  is 
To  preach  unto  the  people,  and  feed  the  poor,  I  wis, 

[  244  ] 


C^e  (^ision  of  ipitts  t^i  (pfoioman 

They  now  be  fled  to  London,  their  bishops  let  them  go, 
Clerks  of  the  King's  Bench  are  they,  to  work  their  country  woe. 
The  Baron,  and  the  Burgess,  and  Bondmen  too,  as  well, 
I  saw  in  that  assembly,  as  I'll  hereafter  tell; 
And  Bakers  too,  and  Butchers,  and  Brewsters  saw  I  there,    , 
And  Weavers,  some  of  woollen,  and  some  of  linen  fair. 
The  Tailors,  and  the  Tanners,  and  Fullers  too,  I  saw, 
The  Masons,  and  the  Miners,  of  crafts,  yea,  many  more. 
The  Ditchers,  and  the  Delvers,  idlers,  I  trow  the  same 
The  live-long  day  they  loiter,  with  '  Dieu  vous  save,  Good 

Dame  ! ' 
Cooks  and  their  knaves  were  crying,  'Hot  pies,  hot  pies!  Good 

swine 
And  geese,  I  trow,  be  ready,  go  dine,  good-man,  go  dine!' 
And  Taverners  that  same  tale  were  telling  low  and  high 
'Here  be  good  wine  of  Osay,  and  wine  of  Gascony, 
Of  Rhine  and  eke  of  Rochelle,  that  with  the  roast  be  told  — * 
All  this  I  saw  while  sleeping,  and  more,  by  sevenfold! 

PASSUS  I 

Now  what  this  mountain  meaneth,  and  this  dark  dale  below, 
This  fair  field  all  with  folk  filled,  I  think  me  now  to  show. 
Lovesome  of  mien,  a  Lady  in  linen  clothed  full  fair 
Came  from  the  cliff  above  me,  and  called  upon  me  there. 
And  said:  'Son,  art  thou  sleeping?  The  folk,  say  dost  thou 

see. 
How  In  a  maze  they  wander,  and  therewith  busy  be? 

[  245  1 


Z^t  ($mon  of  (piets  t^^  (jXciximan 

The  most  part  of  the  people  who  pass  on  earth  to-day- 
Care  but  for  this  world's  worship,  no  better  hope  have  they, 
Nor  of  another  Heaven  do  they  take  heed  alwayl' 
Her  face,  with  fear  it  filled  me,  tho'  fair  it  was,  I  ween, 
^Merci,  ma  Dame^  I  quoth  then,  'now  say,  what  may  this 

mean?' 
'This  Tower  on  the  hill- top.  Truth  dwells  therein  alway 
And  't  is  His  Will  that  men  work  e'en  as  His  Word  doth  say, 
"Father  of  Faith"  His  title,  He  formed  ye,  one  and  all, 
With  form  and  face,  and  five  Wits  He  gave  to  ye  withal. 
To  worship  Him  and  serve  Him,  while  here  below  ye  live. 
And  eke,  for  each  one's  service,  command  to  Earth  did  give 
To  yield  ye  wool  and  linen,  and  livelihood  at  need, 
In  measureable  manner,  that  ye  may  better  speed; 
In  courtesy  commanding  for  common  use  things  three, 
Their  names,  I  trow,  be  needful,  I  speak  them  here  to  thee  — 
By  rule  and  eke  by  reason  their  names  shall  now  be  told, 
The  first  need,  that  is  Clothing,  to  shield  ye  from  the  cold; 
The  next  be  Meat  at  meal-time,  to  keep  ye  from  misease, 
And  Drink  when  ye  be  thirsty,  as  Reason  too  shall  please, 
Lest,  when  thou  would'st  be  working  the  worse  thereof  ye 

be  — 
Remember  in  his  life-days  Lot  was  of  drink  too  free, 
And  dealt  with  his  two  daughters  as  pleased  the  Devil  well. 
Since  he  in  Drink  delighted,  to  Devil's  deeds  he  fell. 
For  Lust  laid  hold  upon  him,  and  with  them  both  he  lay  — 
That  wicked  deed,  he  blamed  it  upon  the  wine  alway. 

[  246] 


C^e  (Pteion  of  (pter^  t^t  (pfoxoman 

To  dread  the  drink  delicious,  is  better,  so  I  ween, 
There  's  Medicine  in  Measure,  tho'  appetite  be  keen. 
Not  all  the  Soul  sustaineth  that  serves  the  Body's  need, 
Nor  is  your  Body  nourished  on  what  the  Soul  doth  feed. 
Believe  thou  not  the  Body,  by  Liar  taught  alway 
Whose  words  be  of  the  Devil  would  thee  fain  betray. 
The  Fiend  and  Flesh  together,  in  league  the  twain  they  be 
To  bring  the  Soul  to  shaming,  e'en  as  thine  heart  may  see; 
And  that  thou  should'st  be  wary  I  show  it  now  to  thee!' 
*Jk,  Madame,  mercir  quoth  I,  'thy  words  for  good  I  hold 
But  tell  me  of  this  money  that  men  hold  fast  on  mold, 
To  whom  pertains  this  treasure,  the  silver,  and  the  gold?' 
*Go  to  the  Gospel,'  quoth  she,  'where  God  Himself  doth  speak 
When  people  with  a  penny  His  counsel  fain  would  seek 
If  they  should  render  tribute  to  Csesar  as  their  lord,  — 
He  bade  them  read,  and  tell  Him  of  whom  it  spake,  the  word, 
And  whose  should  be  the  image  that  that  same  coin  did 

show  — 
They  answered:     It  is  Csesar,  as  every  man  may  know!" 
{Reddite  ergo  que  sunt  Cesaris  Cesari,  et  que  sunt  Dei,  Deo) 
And  Christ  made  answer:  "Render  to  Caesar  what  is  his 
And  what  is  God's,  to  God  give,  else  ye  do  ill,  I  wis." 
And  Reason  good  and  rightful,  I  trow,  should  rule  us  all, 
And  Mother-wit  be  warden  upon  our  wealth  withal, 
And  guardian  of  our  treasure,  to  use  as  best  for  ye 
For  Wit  and  Thrift  together  good  comrades  shall  they  be!' 
Then  did  I  straitly  pray  her,  yea,  in  God's  Name,  that  she 

[  247  ] 


Z^i  (Piston  of  (ptet0  (^i  (pfoiontan 

That  dungeon  in  the  deep  dale,  that  dreadful  is  to  see, 
Its  name,  and  eke  its  meaning,  should  tell  them  now  to  me! 
'It  is,'  she  quoth,  'the  Castle  of  Care,  who  comes  therein 
May  curse  the  day  his  body  or  soul  to  life  did  win, 
Therein  a  wight  he  dwelleth,  and  Wrong  his  name  shall  be, 
The  father  of  all  Falsehood,  its  source  and  sire  is  he. 
Adam  and  Eve  he  tempted,  and  led  them  on  to  ill. 
To  Cain  he  gave  the  counsel  he  should  his  brother  kill. 
And  with  the  Jewish  silver  Judas  did  he  beguile 
On  elder-tree  he  hanged  him  within  a  little  while, 
And  Love  he  ever  letteth,  and  lieth  without  ruth 
To  all  who  trust  in  treasure,  wherein  shall  be  no  truth.' 
Then  in  my  heart  waxed  wonder,  who  might  this  Woman  be 
Who  spake  such  words  of  wisdom  from  Holy  Writ  to  me? 
In  God's  Name  I  adjured  her,  ere  she  from  hence  should  go 
To  say  who  she  was  surely  who  might  such  Wisdom  show. 
'Now  Holy   Church,   my  Name  is,   did'st   know  me  well, 

methought, 
'T  was  I  who  first  received  thee,  the  Faith  to  thee  who  taught, 
To  me  thou  gavest  pledges,  to  hold  my  laws  full  fast 
And  loyally  to  love  me,  while  that  thy  life  should  last.' 
Then  on  my  knees  I  kneeled,  and,  fain  her  grace  to  win, 
I  piteously  besought  her  to  pray  for  this,  my  sin, 
And  eke  to  teach  me  kindly  the  Faith  of  Christ  to  hold 
And  work  His  Will  henceforward  who  made  me  man  on  mold. 
'Teach  not  of  earthly  Treasure,  but  tell  this  same  to  me 
How  I  may  save  my  soul  here,  thou,  who  a  saint  shalt  bel* 

[  248  ] 


C^e  (Piston  of  ^kts  t^t  (pfoXDman 

*When  tried  shall  be  all  treasure,  the  best,  it  shall  be  Truth, 

For  love  of  God  I  tell  ye,  I  deem  it  shall  be  sooth, 

It  is  a  precious  treasure,  as  God  Flimself  shall  be, 

Whoso  of  tongue  is  truthful,  and  from  all  falsehood  free, 

And  ever  worketh  truly,  and  ill  to  none  doth  do. 

Is  counted  of  the  Gospel  on  high,  and  eke  below, 

He  to  Our  Lord  is  likened,  e'en  as  Saint  Luke  doth  show. 

In  sooth,  the  clerks  who  know  it  the  same  should  ever  teach 

And  Christian,  or  non-Christian  they  claim  to,  all  and  each! 

Both  Kings  and  Knights  should  keep  them  by  Reason's  rule,  I 

ween, 
And  aye  in  rightful  progress  about  the  realm  be  seen, 
That  they  may  take  transgressors,  in  bonds  to  set  them  fast 
Till  Truth  shall  be  triumphant,  and  the  transgression  past. 
For  in  his  days.  King  David,  he  dubbed  full  many  a  knight, 
And  on  their  sword  he  sware  them  to  follow  Truth  and  Right; 
That  is  the  proud  profession  that  doth  to  knights  pertain 
And  not  from  flesh  on  Friday  for  five-score  years  abstain! 
But  ever  hold  with  such  folk  as  Truth  would  make  prevail 
Nor  leave  them  for  Love's  waning,  or  if  the  silver  fail! 
For  he  who  passeth  such  point  Apostate  is  he  hight  — 
And  Christ,  the  King  of  all  Kings,  I  trow,  made  many  a 

knight! 
Cherub,  I  ween,  and  Seraph,  the  orders  four  that  be. 
And  might  and  mastery  gave  them  by  this.  His  Majesty, 
And  o'er  His  host  Archangels,  I  trow,  he  made  them  there 
Thro'  Trinity  hath  taught  them  to  know  the  Truth  so  fair, 

[  249  ] 


Z^t  (Pieton  of  ^ine  i^i  (pfoiwrnan 

And  to  obey  His  bidding  —  nor  other  did  He  tell. 
Lucifer,  and  his  legions,  in  Heaven  they  learnt  it  well, 
After  Our  Lord  no  Angel  so  fair  as  he,  until 
Boastful,  he  brake  His  bidding  for  pride,  and  sheer  self-will. 
Then  fell  he  with  his  fellows,  as  Fiends  they  now  be  cast 
From  Heaven  to  Hell's  deep  dungeon,  where  they  be  prisoned 

fast. 
Some  in  the  air  be  holden,  on  earth  some,  some  in  Hell, 
But  Lucifer  the  lowest  of  all,  I  trow,  he  fell. 
Pride  had  he  beyond  measure,  and  now  hath  endless  pain, 
And  all  who  be  wrongdoers  shall  wend  that  way  again, 
And  when  their  death-day  cometh  shall  dwell  in  his  domain. 
But  they  whose  works  be  even  as  Holy  Writ  doth  tell, 
Whose  end  be  as  I  erst  said,  of  one  who  doeth  well, 
Sure  shall  they  be  and  certain  their  souls  in  Heaven  be  found, 
Where  Triune  Truth  yet  reigneth,  by  Truth  shall  they  be 

crowned. 
I  certify  and  say  here,  by  Holy  Writ's  behest. 
When  tried  shall  be  all  treasure  Truth  shall  be  proved  the  best. 
Teach  this  to  the  unlearned,  the  lettered  well  should  know 
Truth  is  the  greatest  treasure  that  Earth  to  man  may  show.' 
Quoth  I : '  Ye  needs  must  teach  me,  for  knowledge  none  have  I, 
By  what  craft  of  my  Body  I  may  the  Truth  descry?' 
Quoth  she:  'Art  daft  and  doting,  and  dull  thy  wit  shall  be 
For  't  is  a  natural  knowledge,  thine  heart  may  teach  it  thee, 
To  love  the  Dear  Lord  better  than  thou  thyself  dost  love, 
To  shun  sins  that  be  mortal  tho'  Death  thy  portion  prove, 

[  250  ] 


Z^t  (Vieion  of  ^iits  i^t  (pfoioman 

I  trow  this  be  Truth's  teaching,  who  knows  a  better  lore 
Then  suffer  him  to  say  so,  and  teach  it  evermore! 
For  thus  God's  Word  doth  teach  us,  see  thou  perform  the  task, 
Love  is  of  all  things  dearest  that  God  from  man  doth  ask. 
The  plant  of  Peace  springs  from  it,  thine  harp  to  this  tune 

string, 
When  thou  at  meat  art  merry,  and  men  shall  bid  thee  sing, 
For  as  thine  heart  doth  prompt  thee,  so  shall  thy  measure  ring. 
That  cometh  from  the  Father  who  formed  us,  one  and  all, 
With  Love  He  looked  upon  us,  and  sent  His  Son  withal, 
To  die  for  us  in  Meekness,  our  misdeeds  to  amend. 
And  yet  no  woe  He  wished  them  who  wrought  Him  such  an 

end! 
But  with  His  Mouth,  so  meekly,  Mercy  for  them  besought, 
And  pity  on  the  people  who  pain  on  Him  had  brought. 
Here  mayst  thou  find  ensample,  by  God  Himself  may'st  see 
How  He  was  Meek,  tho'  Mighty,  and  mercy  granted  free 
To  those  His  Heart  who  pierced,  and  hanged  Him  high  on 

Tree. 
Therefore  the  rich  I  rede  them,  pity  the  poor  man's  need. 
And  e'en  as  ye  be  mighty  let  mercy  rule  your  deed, 
{Eadem  mensura  qua  mensi  fueritis  remercietur  vobis). 
The  measure  ye  have  meted,  or  good  or  ill  it  be. 
When  hence  ye  shall  have  passed,  that  shall  be  paid  to  ye. 
Tho'  ye  of  tongue  be  truthful,  and  true  in  deed  do  keep. 
And  hold  ye  chaste  as  children  who  in  the  church  do  weep. 
Save  that  your  life  be  loyal,  and  to  the  poor  ye  bear 

[  251  ] 


Z^c  (VxBxoYi  of  {pkxs  (^t  (pfoijijman 

True  love,  your  goods,  God-given,  with  them  ye  freely  share, 
Then  have  ye  no  more  merit  thro'  Mass  or  prayer  won 
Than  Maid  who  keeps  her  Virgin  when  she  is  wooed  by  none. 
For  James,  the  gentle,  wrote  it,  and  in  his  book  't  is  seen 
Faith  without  Works  is  feeble,  and  aye  hath  worthless  been, 
'T  is  dead  as  any  door-nail,  save  that  it  proven  be 
By  deeds,  and  so  I  tell  ye  that  even  Chastity 
An  Charity  be  lacking,  is  as  a  lamp  unlit;  — 
Chaste  Chaplains  there  be  many,  who  have  small  love,  I  wit, 
No  men  than  they  be  harder,  when  they  advancement  win 
Unkind  they  be  to  Christians,  unkind  unto  their  kin. 
What  they  should  give,  they  eat  it,  and  cry  for  more  always, 
Such  Chastity,  all  loveless,  in  Hell  v/ere  worthy  praise! 
The  Curates  who  should  keep  them  in  body  chaste  and  clean, 
With  care  they  be  encumbered,  and  come  not  forth,  I  ween. 
For  Avarice  hath  bound  them  within  its  bonds  so  fell, 
That  is  not  Truth  of  Trinity,  but  treachery  of  Hell! 
And  thus  the  layman  learneth  in  giving  to  be  slow 
Yet  these  same  words  be  written  in  Gospel,  as  ye  know, 
"  Give,  and  it  shall  be  given  for  I  deal  to  ye  all 
Your  Grace,  and  your  Good-fortune,  and  goods  that  to  ye  fall. 
And  therefore  should  ye  love  Me  for  these  My  gifts  withal." 
And  this  Love's  lock  that  opened  shall  let  my  Grace  flow  free. 
The  careful  shall  ye  comfort,  oppressed  by  sin  they  be. 
Love  is  the  gift  most  precious  Our  Lord  from  us  doth  play 
And  eke  the  gate  that  leadeth  to  Heaven's  bliss  straightway. 
I  say,  as  erst  I  said  here,  by  Holy  Writ's  behest, 

[  252  ] 


Z^t  (Piston  of  ^kve  i^  (p(oi»tnan 

When  tried  shall  be  all  treasure,  then  Truth  shall  be  the  best, 
And  I  have  truly  told  thee  what  this  same  Truth  shall  be, 
I  may  no  longer  linger,  Our  Lord  watch  over  thee!' 

PASSUS    II 

Yet  on  my  knees  I  kneeled,  and  cried  to  Her  for  aid. 
And  said,  'Ah,  Madame,  Mercy!   For  love  of  Mary  Maid, 
Who  bare  that  Bairn  so  blissful,  who  bought  us  on  the  Rood, 
The  False,  I  fain  would  know  it,  teach  me  that  craft  so  good!' 
Quoth  she,  'Look  on  your  left-hand,  and  see  where  he  doth 

stand, 
Who  is  Deceit,  and  Falsehood,  behold  him  and  his  band!' 
I  looked  upon  the  left-hand,  e'en  as  the  Lady  bade, 
Ware  was  I  of  a  Woman,  most  wondrously  arrayed. 
Her  robes  with  fur  were  bordered,  richer  no  man  might  see, 
She  with  a  crown  was  crowned,  befitting  royalty. 
On  each  hand  her  five  fingers  were  decked  with  rings  arow, 
Set  with  as  precious  jewels  as  prince's  hand  might  show. 
She  rode  arrayed  in  scarlet,  be-ribboned  all  with  gold, 
I  trow  no  queen  were  fairer  who  liveth  upon  m^old! 
Quoth  I:  'Who  is  this  Woman  attired  thus  wondrously?' 
Quoth  she:  "T  is  Meed,  the  Maiden,  who  oft  works  harm  to 

me. 
My  teaching  oft  she  blameth  to  lords  of  counsel  high. 
Within  the  Pope's  own  palace  she  comes  and  goes  as  I, 
She  should  not  there  be  suifered,  for  Wrong,  he  was  her  sire, 
From  Wrong  she  waxed,  on  many  to  wreak  ill-fortune  dire, 

[  253  ] 


Z^t  (Pwott  of  {pkv8  t^t  (pfoioman 

I  ought  to  rank  the  higher,  since  I  was  better  born  — 

This  Maiden  Meed,  and  Falsehood,   they  wed  to-morrow 

morn, 
For  Flattery,  with  Fair-speech,  the  twain  together  brought 
And  Guile,  he  did  persuade  her  to  do  as  he  besought. 
And  't  is  by  Liar's  leading,  I  trow,  the  match  is  wrought. 
To-morrow  is  the  marriage,  in  sooth  I  say  to  thee, 
And  there  thou  well  may'st  know  them,  who  all  of  them  shall 

be 
Belonging  to  that  lordship,  or  great  they  be,  or  small, 
There  thou  can'st  see  and  know  them,  —  but  keep  thee  from 

them  all 
If  thou  with  Truth  hereafter  art  fain  in  bliss  to  dwell. 
Learn  thou  His  Law,  so  loyal,  and,  learning,  teach  it  well. 
I  may  no  longer  linger.  Our  Lord  watch  over  thee. 
Strive  thou  to  be  a  good  man,  from  greed  to  keep  thee  free.' 
Whenas  that  Lady  left  me  I  looked,  and  did  behold 
Rich  retinue  and  royal,  who  did  with  Falsehood  hold; 
All  bidden  to  the  bridal,  on  both  sides  did  they  fare, 
Sir  Simony  was  sent  for  to  seal  the  charters  there 
That  Flattery,  or  Falsehood,  did  hold  by  fee,  I  trow, 
Wherewith  he  Meed,  the  Maiden,  In  marriage  would  endow. 
But  house  nor  hall  might  harbour  the  hosts  that  came  that 

day 
For  all  the  fields  and  meadows  so  full  of  folk  were  they; 
Then  midst  them,  on  a  mountain,  e'en  at  mid-morrow's  tide, 
They  reared  a  proud  pavilion,  around,  on  every  side, 

[  254  ] 


€^i  (Pieion  of  (piers  i^t  (pfotoman 

Ten  thousand  tents  they  pitched  there,  to  lodge  them  at  that 

same, 
The  knights  of  every  country,  and  all  who  thither  came, 
For  summoners,  for  jurors,  those  who  would  buy  or  sell, 
The  layman,  and  the  learned,  the  village  folk  as  well. 
And  for  the  flattering  Friars,  of  the  four  Orders  all 
That  well  it  should  be  witnessed  what  there  was  writ  withal, 
And  how,  in  marriage  dowered  the  Maiden  Meed  should  be 
When  she  should  wed  with  Falsehood,  how  men  should  fix  the 

fee. 
Forth  Flattery  he  led  her,  to  Falsehood  took  her  there, 
In  forward  fast  with  Falsehood  she  should  be  bounden  fair 
Obedient,  and  ready  his  bidding  to  fulfil. 
In  bed  and  board,  at  all  time,  serving  with  ready  skill, 
(Sir  Simony,  he  said  it)  obeying  swift  his  will. 
Now  Simony  and  Civil,  together  forth  they  stand. 
The  deed,  drawn  up  by  Falsehood  unfolded  in  their  hand, 
And  thus  they  made  beginning,  the  twain,  and  loud  did  cry: 
'Now  be  it  known  to  all  men  who  dwell  on  Earth,  that  I 
Who  Flattery  be,  pledge  Falsehood  unto  the  Maiden  Meed 
Who  here  in  pride  be  present,  in  riches,  or  in  need, 
I  Envy's  Earldom  give  them,  for  evermore  to  hold, 
Therewith  shall  all  its  Lordship  in  length  and  breadth  be  told, 
To  Covetousness'  Kingdom,  crowned  the  twain  shall  be. 
False  Avarice  their  Dower,  and  Isles  of  Usury. 
Of  Gluttony,  and  great  oaths,  I  give  them  here  the  fee, 
With  all  delights  of  Lustfulness,  the  Devil's  slaves  to  be. 

[  255  ] 


C^e  (Pteion  of  ^kxB  (^^  (pfoi^man 

Seigneurs  of  Sloth  endow  them,  the  same  to  have  and  hold, 
The  Seigneurie  hereafter  unto  their  heirs  be  told. 
With  Purgatory's  portion,  conjoined  with  pains  of  Hell, 
For  this  they,  at  the  year's  end,  I  trow,  shall  payment  tell, 
Yielding  their  souls  to  Satan,  by  him  be  sent  to  pain. 
With  Wrong  to  make  their  dwelling,  while  God  in  Heaven 

doth  reign.' 
For  witness  of  this  forward  Wrong  was  the  first  to  go. 
And  Piers  the  Pardoner  followed,  a  Pauline's  Doctor,  too, 
Then  Bette  the  Beadle  witnessed,  of  Buckinghamshire  he, 
Randolf  the  reeve  of  Rutland,  with  many  more  there  be, 
Of  Taborers,  of  Tumblers,  of  Tapsters,  too,  I  trow, 
And  Mond  the  Miller  saw  I,  and  other  men  enow. 
By  year  of  Devil  dated,  and  sealed  the  deed  must  be, 
Sir  Simony  beholding,  and  signed  by  Notary. 
Theology  waxed  wrathful  when  this  came  to  his  ear, 
In  anger  quoth  to  Civil,  'Now  woe  betide  thee  here. 
To  bring  about  such  wedding,  and  thus  to  anger  Truth, 
Ere  it  were  wrought,  this  marriage,  I  trow  thou  should'st  have 

ruth. 
For  Meed  is  richly  dowered,  a  wealthy  maiden  she, 
God  grant  that  at  Truth's  bidding  she  shall  assigned  be. 
And  thou  to  Guile  dost  give  her,  God  give  thee  sorrow  now, 
Not  so  the  text  is  written,  Truth  wots  it  well,  I  trow,  — 
"  Dignus  est  operarius  mercede  sua  — " 
Worthy  of  Meed  the  workman,  so  doth  it  run,  the  saw. 
Thou  weddest  Meed  to  Falsehood,  now  fie  upon  thy  law! 

[  256] 


Z^t  (Pmon  of  {pkxB  t^t  (|)fo)^man 

The  Lechers  and  the  Liars  dost  love,  assuredly 

Is  Holy  Church  now  shamed  by  thee  and  Simony, 

But  both,  I  trow,  shall  rue  it,  by  God  who  made  us  all 

Whenas  the  year's  end  cometh,  then  shall  the  reckoning  fall! 

Full  sore  ye  vex  the  people,  these  notaries,  and  ye, 

For  well  ye  know,  ye  Liars,  save  your  Wit  faileth  ye. 

That  Falsehood  is  a  traitor,  who  aye  doth  fail  in  deed, 

For  he  was  born  a  bastard,  and  of  the  Devil's  seed; 

But  Meed  is  richly  dowered,  a  Maid  of  high  degree, 

To  kiss  the  King  entitled,  his  cousin  sure  is  she. 

I  rede  thee  work  with  Wisdom,  and  let  Wit  guidance  show, 

And  lead  the  Maid  to  London,  where  men  the   law  shall 

know; 
If  Loyalty  permit  it,  that  they  together  be. 
And  Justice  shall  adjudge  her  to  wed  with  Falsity. 
Beware  of  this  same  wedding,  for  Truth  be  wise  enow. 
His  Counsellor  is  Conscience,  who  knows  all  men,  I  trow, 
<^And  if  default  he  findeth,  that  ye  with  Falsehood  hold. 
Your  Souls  shall  pay  sore  forfeit  when  the  last  lot  is  told.' 
Civil  thereto  assented,  but  Simony  delayed 
Until  his  saws  and  sealing  with  silver  should  be  paid. 
Then  Flattery  from  his  treasure  florins  enow  he  told. 
Bade  Guile  go-to,  and  swiftly  distribute  well  the  gold. 
The  notaries  to  give  it,  that  none  should  lacking  be, 
False  witnesses  to  furnish, with  florins  for  their  fee 
That  Meed  by  him  be  mastered,  that  she  should  do  his  will. 
Where  Falsity  ye  find  it  there  Faith  it  faileth  still. 

[  257  ] 


Z^i  (Pteiott  of  (piers  t^t  (pfotoman 

Then  when  the  gold  was  given  great  thanks  were  proffered 

there 
To  Flattery  and  Falsehood  for  these  their  gifts  so  fair; 
And  many  came  who  Falsehood  would  comfort  in  his  woe, 
And  on  the  Hallows  sware  it,  'Rest  shall  we  never  know 
Till  Meed  with  thee  be  wedded,  thro'  knowledge  of  us  all, 
For  we  the  Maid  have  mastered  by  our  fair  words  withal. 
So  that  she  now  doth  grant  us,  of  right  goodwill,  that  she 
To  London  will  betake  her  to  learn,  if  lawfully. 
Ye  twain  shall  be  adjudged,  in  wedlock  joined  to  be.' 
Then  fain  thereof  was  Falsehood  and  Flattery  that  tide 
And  swift  all  men  they  summoned  throughout  the  country- 
side. 
And  bade  burgess  and  sheriff  array  them  now  with  speed 
To  Westminster  to  wend  them,  as  witness  of  this  deed. 
They  clamoured  loud  for  horses,  to  bear  them  on  their  way, 
The  foals  that  Flattery  led  forth  best  of  their  kind  were  they; 
Set  Meed  upon  a  Sheriff,  all  newly  shod,  I  wot, 
Falsehood,  on  an  Assizor,  who  did  right  gently  trot. 
For  'gainst  the  faith  doth  Falsehood  assizors  now  defile 
By  greed  of  gain  encumbered  they  strive  'gainst  Truth  the 

while, 
And  thus,  the  Faith  defiling,  defame  it  as  they  please  — 
Falsehood,  to  lordship  waxen,  he  liveth  at  his  ease. 
And  Flattery  rode  on  Fairspeech,  attired  in  fashion  fair. 
For  Fairspeech  that  is  faithless,  he  doth  with  Falsehood  pair. 
Assizors  thus  be  summoned  the  false  to  serve,  I  trow, 

[  258  ] 


t^t  (Pteiott  of  (puts  tU  (pfoiDtnon 

By  Flattery  and  Fairspeech  deceiving  folk  enow. 

No  horse  the  Notaries  found  there,  and  sore  annoyed  were 

they, 
That  Simony  and  Civil  on  foot  must  take  their  way. 
Then  Civil  spake  in  anger,  and  sware  upon  the  Rood 
That  Summoners  be  saddled,  to  do  them  service  good. 
'Apparel  here  Provisors,  in  palfrey's  wise,  to  wit, 
And  on  their  back  full  safely  Sir  Simony  shall  sit; 
Dight  all  the  Deans  and  Sub-deans,  as  steeds  at  my  behest, 
For  they  shall  bear  the  Bishops,  and  bring  them  well  to  rest; 
And  Pauline's  folk,  for  laying  plaint  in  Consistory, 
They  now  must  do  my  service  who  Civil  named  shall  be. 
Our  commissary  yoke  him,  that  he  may  draw  our  cart 
To  bear  our  load  of  victuals,  the  fornicator's  part! 
Make  a  long  cart  of  Liar,  that  others  all  he  lead, 
The  Liars  and  Impostors,  who  fare  afoot  with  speed.' 
Now  Flattery  and  Falsehood  together  forth  they  fare, 
Meed,  in  the  midst  she  rideth,  their  mesnie  follow  fair, 
Methinks  the  time  would  fail  me  ere  yet  the  tale  was  told 
Of  all  those  men,  so  many  were  they  who  live  on  mold! 
But  Guile,  he  was  forerunner,  to  guide  them  on  their  way.  — 
Soothness,  he  well  beheld  them,  and  little  did  he  say. 
But  pricked  forth  on  his  palfrey,  and  passed  them,  without 

fail, 
And,  coming  to  the  King's  court,  to  Conscience  told  his  tale. 
Conscience,  he  sought  the  King  then,  bare  him  the  tidings 

true, 

[  259  ] 


t^i  (pmott  of  ^iitB  i^i  (pfouoman 

'By  Christ,'  the  King  quoth  swiftly,  *an  I  might  catch  the 

crew 
Or  Flattery,  or  Falsehood,  or  those  who  do  his  will, 
I  'Id  venge  me  on  these  wretches,  who  work  me  so  much  ill; 
And  by  the  neck  I  'Id  hang  them,  and  all  who  be  them  fain 
No  man  on  mold,  by  my  will,  the  least  thing  shall  maintain 
But  as  the  law  hold  rightful  —  Let  fall  upon  them  all. 
The  Constables  command  now  to  come  at  the  first  call, 
And  to  attach  the  traitors  for  treasures  proffered  there, 
Fast  shall  ye  fetter  Falsehood,  an  gifts  he  giveth  fair; 
Guile's  head,  I  bid  ye  hew  off,  let  him  no  further  go. 
And  bring  me  Meed  the  maiden  despite  the  wrath  they  show. 
To  Simony  and  Civil  a  warning  bring  from  me 
Lest  Holy  Church  for  ever  by  them  should  harmed  be. 
If  Liar,  ye  may  catch  him,  see  that  ye  do  not  spare 
But  in  the  stocks  now  set  him,  nor  hearken  to  his  prayer, 
I  bid  thee  well  await  them,  let  none  escape  ye  there.' 
Now  Dread,  he  at  the  door  stood,  the  doom  right  well  he  heard, 
And  swift  he  sped,  to  Falsehood  he  bare  the  warning  word, 
And  bade  him  and  his  comrades  full  fast  to  flee  that  day. 
Then  to  the  Friars,  Falsehood,  for  fear,  he  made  his  way; 
And  Guile,  aghast,  would  fly  thence,  in  terror  lest  he  died, 
But  that  he  met  with  merchants,  who  forced  him  to  abide. 
And,  in  their  shops,  besought  him  their  wares  for  them  to  sell 
Apparelled  as  apprentice,  to  serve  the  people  well. 
And  lightly  Liar  leapt  thence,  and  gat  him  on  his  way. 
Ever  thro'  bye-lanes  lurking,  and  here  and  there  he  lay, 

[  260  ] 


C^e  (Pteion  of  (pkt^  t^t  ^(oxoman 

But  nowhere  was  he  welcome,  for  these,  his  tales,  each  one 
Was  fain  from  thence  to  hunt  him,  and  bid  him  to  begone. 
The  Pardoners,  in  pity,  to  house  they  bade  him  there, 
And  well  they  washed  and  cleansed  him,  wound  him  in  clothes 

full  fair 
And  sent  him  forth  on  Sunday  to  church,  with  seals  well  found, 
Pardons  for  pence  he  gave  there,  and  gathered  many  a  pound. 
Letters  the  Leeches  wrote  him,  when  they  these  tidings  knew 
And  proffered  him  a  dwelling,  would  he  their  potions  brew. 
And  Spicers,  they  spake  with  him,  prayed  him  to  guard  their 

spice, 
For  gums,  right  well  he  knew  them,  and  many  a  fair  device. 
And  Messengers,  and  Minstrels,  they  met  with  him  that  tide, 
Six  months  and  weeks  eleven  with  them  must  he  abide; 
But  with  fair  speech,  the  Friars,  they  fetched  him  thence  one 

day 
Lest  he  be  known  by  strangers,  as  Friar  with  them  to  stay; 
Yet  hath  he  leave  to  run  forth,  as  it  shall  please  him  well. 
To  them  he  aye  is  welcome,  with  them  he  oft  doth  dwell ! 
And  thus  for  fear  they  fled  all,  in  corners  fain  would  hide, 
And,  saving  Meed  the  maiden,  no  man  durst  there  abide. 
Yet  truth  to  tell  she  trembled,  for  very  fear  she  shook, 
Wrung  her  hands,  weeping  sorely,  when  men  her  captive  took. 

PASSUS   III 

Now  ta'en  is  Meed,  the  maiden,  she  of  them  all  alone 
By  Beadles,  and  by  Bailiffs,  and  brought  before  the  throne. 

[261  ] 


Z^t  (Vision  of  {puts  t^t  (pfoloman 

The  King,  a  clerk  he  called  there,  his  name  I  know  it  not, 
To  take  in  charge  the  maiden,  and  still  her  fears,  I  wot. 
'For  I,  myself,  will  try  her  with  questions,  and  will  hear 
Who  is  the  man  in  this  world  who  is  to  her  most  dear, 
If  by  my  wit  she  worketh  and  followeth  my  will 
Her  guilt  I  will  forgive  her,  God  be  my  Helper  still!' 
Full  courteously,  the  clerk  then,  e'en  as  the  King  he  bade. 
He  took  Meed  by  the  middle,  to  hall  he  led  the  maid. 
And  there  they  made,  to  please  her,  much  mirth  and  min- 
strelsy, 
Honoured  is  she  by  all  men  at  Westminster  who  be. 
With  joyous  mien  and  gentle  the  justices  that  day 
Forth  to  the  bower  they  hurried  wherein  the  maiden  lay 
And  comforted  her  kindly,  bade  her  be  of  good  cheer. 
Saying:  'Meed,  cease  thy  mourning,  nosorrow  waits  thee  here! 
Thy  way,  we  well  will  shape  it,  and  so  the  King  advise, 
"  For  all  the  craft  that  Conscience,  I  trow,  may  yet  devise," 
That  at  thy  will  thou  dealest  with  might  and  mastery, 
With  King,  and  Court,  and  Commons,  as  shall  seem  best  to 

thee.' 
Then,  mildly.  Meed  the  maiden,  gave  thanks  unto  them  all 
For  their  great  goodness  freely  she  dealt  to  them  withal 
Cups  of  pure  gold,  and  silver,  and  pieces  broad,  I  trow, 
And  ruby  rings,  and  riches,  she  rained  on  them  enow, 
The  least  man  of  her  mesnie  a  gold  piece  did  receive  — 
Therewith,  I  trow,  the  lordings  from  Meed  they  took  their 
leave. 

[  262  ] 


t^i  (Pisiott  of  ^kte  (^t  (pfoiwman 

With  that,  her  care  to  comfort,  the  clerks,  they  hasten  then 
'Now  to  be  blithe  we  bid  thee,  for  we  be  thine  own  men. 
To  work  thy  will  we  're  ready  while  that  our  life  endure.' 
She  courteously  did  promise,  and  did  them  all  assure. 
That  she  would  loyally  love  them,  and  lords  would  make 

them  all, 
At  Court,  and  in  Consistory  that  she  their  names  would  call: 
*Nor  ignorance  shall  hinder  the  simplest  man  I  love 
But  he  shall  win  advancement  —  My  skill  I  shall  approve 
Where  cunning  clerks  no  counsel  can  find  whereby  to  move!* 
Therewith  came  a  Confessor,  a  Friar's  cape  he  ware, 
And  unto  Meed,  the  maiden,  he  meekly  bowed  him  there, 
And  said  to  her  full  softly,  as  she  would  shriven  be: 
*Tho'  learned  men,  and  laymen,  I  trow,  had  lain  with  thee, 
And  Falsehood  been  thy  fellow  for  fifteen  winters  cold 
A  load  of  wheat  sufhceth,  thy  pardon  shall  be  told; 
And  I  will  be  thy  pandar,  and  do  thine  errand  well 
Amid  the  clerks  and  courtiers,  that  Conscience  we  may  fell.' 
For  her  misdeeds,  the  maiden,  her  knee  to  him  did  bow, 
And  of  her  sins  was  shriven  in  shameful  wise,  I  trow, 
To  him  her  tale  she  telleth,  a  noble  gives  him  there 
That  he  shall  be  her  bedesman,  as  pandar  to  serve  her  fair. 
Then  swiftly  did  he  assoil  her,  and  spake  into  her  ear, 
*A  window  are  we  working,  that  same  shall  cost  us  dear, 
Now  wilt  thou  glaze  that  gable,  and  grave  thy  name  as  well, 
Thy  soul  shall  be  assured  in  Heaven's  bliss  to  dwell.' 
*Wist  I  that,'  quoth  the  woman,  'Window,  nor  altar  high 

[  263  ] 


But  I  would  make,  or  mend  them,  and  grave  my  name 

thereby, 
That  all  should  say  the  Sister  of  that  house  sure  were  I!' 
But  God  unto  all  good  folk  such  graving  doth  forbid  — 
{Nesciat  sinistra  quid  facial  dexUra) 

And  saith,  'Both  late  and  early  from  thy  left  hand  be  hid 
That  which  thy  right  hand  dealeth,'  but  work  so  privily 
That  what  in  alms  thou  givest  none  pride  therein  may  see. 
Neither  in  sight,  nor  secret,  for  God  doth  know  withal 
Who  courteous  is  and  kindly,  or  who  is  Envy's  thrall.  — 
Therefore  I  bid  ye,  lordings,  to  hearken  this,  my  rede 
And  write  no  more  on  windows  the  tale  of  each  good  deed 
Nor  cry  ye  after  God's  folk,  when  alms  ye  chance  to  give; 
Perchance  ye  '11  win  rewarding  while  yet  on  earth  ye  live, 
For  that  Our  Saviour  saith  it,  't  is  writ  as  His  own  Word: 
{Amen,  dico  vobis,  receperunt  mercedem  suam) 
*For  verily,  I  tell  ye,  here  shall  they  have  reward.'    ■ 
And  hear  this.  Mayors,  and  Masters,  who  middle-men  be 

made 
Betwixt  the  King  and  Commons,  to  see  the  laws  obeyed, 
By  cucking-stools  to  punish,  or  eke  by  pillory  — 
Ye  Brewers,  Bakers,  Butchers,  or  Cooks,  as  ye  may  be, 
Of  all  men  these  most  mischief  they  work  assuredly! 
For  poor  men  they,  by  retail,  their  goods  perforce  must  buy 
And  these,  the  folk  they  punish,  I  trow,  both  loud  and  still, 
They  buy  their  rents,  by  haggling,  they  wax  rich  at  their  will 
On  that  with  which  the  poor  man  should  now  his  belly  fill.  , 

[  264  ] 


^^e  (pieion  of  (puts  (^t  (pfoxoman 

For  an  they  'Id  dealt  more  truly  they  had  not  built  so  high, 

Nor  bought  so  many  houses,  that  know  ye  certainly. 

The  Mayor,  Meed  the  maiden,  she  gave  him  counsel  there 

In  silver  from  such  sellers  ever  to  take  his  share. 

Or  other  gifts  than  money,  as  silver  cups  also. 

And  rings  inset  with  rubies,  favour  to  such  to  show. 

'  For  my  love,'  quoth  the  lady,  '  I  bid  ye  love  them  well 

And  tho'  'gainst  right  and  reason  suffer  them  thus  to  sell.' 

Yet  Solomon  a  sermon  once  made,  a  sage  was  he, 

The  mayors,  it  shall  amend  them,  and  men  who  lawyers  be, 

And  this  the  text  he  taught  them,  as  now  I  tell  to  ye  — 

{Ignis   devorabit   tabernacula    eorum    qui   lihenter    accipiunt 

munera) 
And  thus  for  the  unlearned  the  Latin  words  I  turn 
That  fire  shall  fall,  and  soothly,  it  at  the  last  shall  burn 
The  house  and  home  of  all  men  who  fain  would  have  and  hold 
The  gifts  that  be  unlawful,  be  they  or  young,  or  old. 
Now  be  ye  ware,  and  mark  well  who  deal  with  law  alway 
For  that  your  souls  must  soothly  an  answer  give  one  day 
For  wrongs  that  shall  be  wrought  here  by  sufferance  or  behest. 
While  Chance  the  choice  doth  offer,  see  that  ye  choose  the 

best. 
The  King,  he  came  from  council,  and  called  the  maiden  Meed, 
And  swift  he  sent  the  Serjeants,  to  fetch  her  now  with  speed. 
Thus  to  the  bower  they  brought  her  with  joy,  and  eke  with 

bliss 
And  each  with  mirth  and  music  would  pleasure  her,  I  wis. 

[26s  ] 


Z^t  (Pi5ion  of  ^uvB  i2}t  ^fouoman 

The  King,  in  courteous  fashion,  commencement  thought  to 

make 
And  unto  Meed,  the  maiden,  these  words,  I  trow,  he  spake  — 
'Unwise  have  been  thy  dealings  full  often,  so  I  wis, 
Yet  never  of  aforetime  hast  wrought  such  wrong  as  this. 
To  pledge  thyself  to  Falsehood,  yet  grace  I  '11  grant  to  thee, 
If  never  more  thou  do  this,  shalt  have  forgiveness  free. 
I  have  a  knight  hight  Conscience,  come  lately  from  abroad, 
If  he  for  a  wife  wilt  take  thee  wilt  have  him  for  thy  lord?' 
'Yea,  Lord,'  now  quoth  the  lady,  'and  God  forbid  alway 
That  I  refuse  thy  bidding,  else  hang  thou  me  straightway!' 
With  that  they  called  on  Conscience  to  come  unto  the  hall 
Before  the  King  and  Counsel,  and  clerks  and  courtiers  all, 
And  Conscience,  humbly  kneeling,  to  the  King  louted  low, 
The  royal  will  and  bidding  full  fain  was  he  to  know. 
'Wilt  wed  thee  with  this  woman,  if  leave  thereto  I  give, 
Thy  fellowship  she  craveth,  and  as  thy  mate  would  live?' 
'Nay,  nay,  may  Christ  forbid  it,'  quoth  Conscience  to  the 

King, 
'  May  sorrow  be  my  portion  ere  that  I  do  such  thing! 
For  frail  of  flesh  that  maiden,  fickle  of  tongue  of  yore 
Men  to  misdeeds  she  leadeth,  a  score  time,  yea,  and  more. 
The  trust  in  this,  her  treasure,  doth  many  a  man  betray; 
She  showeth  wives  and  widows  of  wantonness  the  way; 
She  lechery  would  teach  those  who  love  her  gifts  to  share; 
She  felled  our  Father  Adam,  with  promises  so  fair. 
And  Popes,  I  trow,  hath  poisoned,  to  Holy  Church  wrought  III, 

[  266  1 


t^i  (pi0ton  of  ^itve  i^t  (pfoiuman 

I  trow  no  worse  whore  liveth,  by  Him  who  made  me  still, 
To-day  'twixt  Hell  and  Heaven,  tho'  men  the  wide  world 

sought! 
A  very  wanton  is  she,  with  tongue  for  slander  wrought 
As  common  as  a  cart-road  to  every  knave  to-day, 
To  Mass-priest,  and  to  Minstrel,  to  Leper  by  the  way. 
Summoners,  and  Assizors,  such  men,  they  praise  her  e'er, 
Sheriffs  of  Shires  were  shamed  save  but  their  aid  she  were. 
Thro'  her,  their  lands,  men  lose  them,  and  oft  their  life  thereby; 
The  prison  doors  she  opens  full  oft  by  bribery, 
For  gold  she  gives  the  gaoler,  and  many  a  groat  beside 
That  so  the  false,  unfettered,  may  flee,  and  safely  hide. 
The  true  man  hath  she  taken,  and  tied  him  fast  anon, 
For  very  hate  hath  hanged  him  who  harm  had  never  done. 
And  tho'  Consistory  curse  her,  she  careth  not  for  this, 
Finds  capes  for  each  commissary,  and  clothes  their  clerks,  I 

wis. 
And  is  of  sin  assoiled  whenas  her  pleasure  is! 
Within  one  month  she  doeth  as  much,  I  trow,  and  more, 
As  Privy  Seal  may  compass  in  days  full  seven-score. 
She  with  the  Pope  is  friendly,  Provisors  with  her  deal, 
Sir  Simony  together  with  her,  the  Bulls  they  seal. 
And  oft  she  blesseth  Bishops  who  all  unlearned  be; 
Priest,  Prebendary,  Parson,  she  doth  maintain  them  free 
To  hold  their  loves  and  lemans  as  long  as  they  may  live  — 
To  bring  forth  bairns,  permission  she  'gainst  the  law  doth  give; 
And  woe  unto  the  kingdom  whose  King  entreats  her  well, 

[267I 


Z^i  (Pieion  of  ^kte  t^t  ^tmrnan 

For  she  the  False  doth  favour,  and  oft  the  True  doth  fell. 

The  Baron  and  the  Burgess  full  oft  she  bringeth  low, 

And,  bought  with  these,  her  jewels,  the  Judges  shame  must 

know. 
Against  the  law  she  lieth,  and  hindrance  sets  withal. 
That  Faith  may  not  be  furthered,  so  thick  her  florins  fall! 
She  leads  the  Law  as  lists  her,  and  Love-days  sets  alway 
For  mazing  of  the  poor  man,  plead  he  as  best  he  may. 
The  Law,  it  is  so  lordly,  and  loth  an  end  to  see. 
Without  or  pence,  or  present,  full  few  content  shall  be. 
Covetousness  and  the  Clergy  she  coupleth  evermore. 
Such  life  she  lives,  this  lady,  Christ  send  her  sorrow  sore, 
And  all  who  now  maintain  her,  misfortune  be  their  part! 
The  poor,  they  have  no  power  to  plead,  tho'  sore  they  smart 
Such  mastery  Meed  wieldeth  o'er  rich  men,  hard  of  heart!' 
Then  Meed,  she  made  sore  mourning,  bemoaned  her  to  the 

King, 
And  prayed  for  space  to  speak  there,  and  answer  meet  to 

bring. 
Then  grace  the  King  did  grant  her,  with  right  goodwill  alway, 
'Now,  if  thou  canst  excuse  thee,  for  more  I  may  not  say, 
Since  Conscience  hath  accused  thee,  and  bade  thee  go  thy 

way.' 
*Nay,  Lord,'  now  quoth  the  lady,  'believe  not  all  this  ill, 
Ere  that  ye  wot  full  truly  where  wrong,  it  lieth  still, 
Where  Mischief,  he  is  master  there  Meed  may  help  that  tide, 
And  Conscience,  well  thou  knowest  I  came  not  here  to  chide 

[  268  ] 


€^t  (Pteion  of  ^iixB  t^t  ^ioioman 

Or  to  upbraid  thy  person  with  a  proud  heart  and  high, 
For  well  thou  wottest,  Conscience,  save  that  thou  think'st  to 

lie, 
That  on  my  neck  didst  throw  thee,  eleven  times  full  told, 
From  me  hast  ta'en,  and  given,  at  thine  own  will,  my  gold. 
Why  thou  should'st  now  be  wrathful,  in  truth  it  wonders  me 
While  I  may,  as  aforetime,  by  my  gifts  forward  thee, 
And  may  maintain  thy  manhood  more  than  doth  now  ap- 
pear — 
And  yet,  in  the  King's  presence  dost  foul  defame  me  here! 
Yet  ne'er  a  King  I  killed,  nor  counselled  such  a  thing, 
Nor  dealt  I  e'er  as  thou  didst,  I  swear  it  by  the  King! 
Not  for  my  sake  annoyance  he  met  in  Normandy, 
By  thee  he  there  was  shamed,  I  saw  it  soothfastly! 
Didst  creep  into  a  cabin  for  fingers  cold  and  sore, 
Deeming,  methinks,  the  winter  should  last  for  evermore; 
Dreading  lest  thou  be  dead  there  for  rain  clouds  over-cast 
Didst  haste  thee  home  for  hunger  that  grips  the  vitals  fast. 
Thou  Pillager  sans  pity,  the  poor  thou  didst  rob  there. 
Their  goods  to  sell  at  Calais  upon  thy  back  didst  bear. 
But  with  my  Lord  I  lingered,  his  life  to  save  was  fain, 
Much  mirth  I  made  from  mourning  to  rouse  him,  and  from 

pain. 
Men  on  the  back  I  patted,  with  boldness  did  them  fill 
And  high  they  sprang  then,  hoping  to  have  me  at  their  will. 
Had  I  then  been  his  Marshal,  by  Mary,  Heaven's  Queen, 
I 'Id  laid  my  life  in  wager,  no  lesser  pledge,  I  ween, 

[  269] 


^^e  (Vision  of  (piers  t^t  ^to)omm 

He 'Id  hold  that  land  in  lordship,  its  length  and  breadth  to 

win, 
King  of  that  folk  had  made  him,  to  helping  of  his  kin, 
That  of  his  blood  the  least  bairn  a  Baron's  peer  had  been  — 
Thou,  Conscience,  gavest  him  counsel  to  leave  that  land,  I 

ween, 
And  for  a  little  silver  that  lordship  lose  again 
That  is  of  realms  the  richest  o'er  which  a  King  may  reign. 
It  doth  become  a  monarch  who  o'er  his  realm  is  lord 
To  those  who  humbly  serve  him  to  give  their  due  reward; 
On  aliens  and  all  men  bestow  both  gifts  and  gold. 
Meed  maketh  him  beloved,  his  manhood  doth  uphold, 
And  be  he  Earl  or  Emperor,  or  any  lord  beside 
Gifts  to  young  men  he  giveth  in  this,  his  train,  to  ride. 
The  Pope,  and  these  his  Prelates,  presents  to  take  are  fain, 
And  they  themselves  reward  those  who  do  their  laws  main- 
tain. 
And  Servants  for  their  service,  't  is  sooth  as  well  ye  see. 
Take  meed  from  these  their  Masters,  e'en  as  they  shall  agree, 
And  Beggars,  for  prayers   promised,  men  give  them  meed 

alway. 
And  for  their  mirth  the  Minstrels  receive  a  fitting  pay. 
The  King  his  men  rewardeth  that  peace  in  land  they  hold. 
And  men  who  know  clerks  learned  from  them  they  crave  the 

gold. 
The  Priests  who  preach  to  people,  and  warn  them  for  their 
good, 

[  270  ] 


Z^t  (Pi0ion  of  ^itvB  t^t  (pfoxotnan 

From  them  ask  meed,  and  Mass-pence,  and  therewithal  their 

food. 
And  every  kind  of  craftsman  for  prentice  taketh  meed. 
And  Meed,  I  trow,  and  Merchandise,  have  of  each  other  need 
And  none  may  do  without  her  who  well  in  life  would  speed!' 
'Now,'  quoth  the  King  to  Conscience,  'by  Christ  it  seemeth 

me 
That  Meed,  she  shall  be  worthy  to  have  the  mastery!' 
*Nay,'  to  the  King  quoth  Conscience,  and  bended  low  the 

knee, 
*Now  by  thy  leave  my  dear  Lord  tzvo  Meeds  there  sure  shall 

be, 
The  one  by  God  is  given  of  Grace,  in  this,  His  Bliss, 
To  those  who  work  full  truly  His  Will  while  here,  I  wis, 
The  prophet,  he  hath  preached  it,  in  Psalter  set  it  fair  —   . 
(Qui  peccuniam  suam  -non  dedit  ad  usurain). 
And  Meed  my  Lord,  of  true  men  I  pray  ye  take  it  ne'er. 
But  love  them,  and  believe  them,  for  love  of  Heaven's  Lord, 
And  God's  Meed,  and  His  Mercy,  be  told  ye  for  reward. 
There  is  a  Meed  sans  mesure,  desiring  mastery. 
Who  would  maintain  misdoers,  such  craves  rewarding  free, 
And  thereof  quoth  the  Psalter,  at  end  it  standeth  writ, 
{In  quorum  manihus  iniquitates  sunt,  dextera  eorum  repleta  est 

muneribus) 
"  And  full  of  gifts  their  right  hand  is  heaped  "  it  runs,  to  wit. 
They  who  those  gifts  have  grasped,  so  help  me  God  on  high, 
Shall  bitterly  have  bought  them,  or  else  the  Book  doth  lie. 

[  271  ] 


Z^t  (Pieton  of  (pier^r  i^i  ^tommm 

And  Priests,  I  trow,  and  Parsons,  who  please  them  in  this 

thing, 
From  men  take  Meed  and  money  for  Masses  that  they  sing 
Shall  have  reward  in  this  world,  as  Matthew  surely  spake  — 
{Amen,  dico  vobis,  receperunt  mercedem  suam) 
What  labourers  and  low  folk  shall  from  their  masters  take 
As  Meed  should  not  be  reckoned,  but  hire  both  just  and  fair 
Nor  is  there  Meed  in  Merchandise,  that  do  I  well  declare, 
But  fair  exchange,  one  penny  its  worth  receiveth  there. 
Didst  never  read  aforetime  in  Kings,  thou  recreant  Meed, 
Why  vengeance  fell  was  wreaked  on  Saul  and  all  his  seed? 
God  sent  His  word  of  old  time,  by  Samuel's  mouth  he  spoke, 
That  Amalek,  and  Agag,  and  with  him  all  his  folk, 
Should  die  for  deed  unlawful  they  'gainst  his  elders  wrought 
On  Israel,  and  Aaron,  and  Moses  mischief  brought. 
Then  Samuel  to  Saul  spake,  "  God  sendeth  thee  alway, 
See  that  thou  be  obedient.  His  Bidding  well  obey, 
With  thine  host  wend  thee  thither,  the  women,  kill  them  all, 
The  children,  and  the  churls  too,  chop  thou  in  pieces  small;. 
And  see  the  King  thou  killest,  and  covet  not  his  gold. 
For  millions  of  money  shalt  not  thy  sword  withhold. 
But  bairn  and  beast  shalt  burn  them  to  ashes,  young  and  old." 
And,  since  the  King  he  killed  not,  as  God  Himself  did  say. 
But  coveted  fair  cattle,  was  loath  the  beasts  to  slay. 
And  back  with  him  did  bring  them,  as  ye  may  read  alway, 
God  sent  to  say  by  Samuel  that  Saul  should  surely  die. 
And  all  his  seed,  for  this  sin,  should  end  full  shamefully. 

[  272  ] 


€^t  (Pieiott  of  (pierff  i^t  gjfouoman 

Such  mischief  Meed,  her  counsel,  made  for  King  Saul  of  yore, 

He  and  his  heirs  were  hated  by  God  for  evermore. 

I  '11  tarry  not  to  show  thee  to  what  this  tale  doth  tend. 

As  'venture  doth  it  vex  me,  thereof  I'll  make  an  end. 

But  as  it  chanced  to  Agag  so  shall  men  ever  see 

For  Samuel  still  shall  slay  him,  and  Saul,  he  blamed  shall  be; 

A  diadem  for  David,  and  daunting  for  the  ill, 

A  Christian  King  to  rule  us,  and  keep  us  safely  still! 

I  Conscience,  surely  know  this,  for  Mother-Wit  hath  taught, 

At  last  Right  Reason  reigneth,  realms   'neath  her  rule  be 

brought. 
No  more  on  Earth,  I  trow  me,  shall  Meed  the  master  be. 
But  Lowliness  and  True  Love  shall  reign  with  Loyalty. 
Who  against  Truth  doth  trespass,  or  deal  with  Falsity, 
By  law  shall  Loyalty  judge  him,  or  lose  his  life  thereby. 
Nor  Serjeant  for  that  service  a  hood  of  silk  shall  wear, 
Nor  in  a  gay  robe  garb  him,  all  richly  furred  and  fair. 
Meed  maketh  of  misdoers  rich  men,  and  therewithal, 
Doth  Loyalty  wax  poorer,  while  Law  is  lord  of  all. 
And  Cruelty  commandeth,  to  banish  Kindness  fain  — 
But  Righteousness,  she  cometh,  with  Conscience  in  her  train. 
Law  shall  be  forced  to  labour,  while  Love  o'er  all  doth  reign!' 

PASSUS    IV 

'Cease,'  quoth  the  King  to  Conscience,  *no  more  I  '11  suffer 

thee, 
Be  reconciled  henceforward,  and  both  my  servants  be, 

[  273  ] 


€^t  (^ieion  of  ^im  (^i  (p(o)joman 

Kiss  her  — '  the  King  commanded,  *it  is  my  will  alway'  — 
'Nay,  nay,  by  Christ,'  quoth  Conscience,  'I 'Id  rather  go  my 

way, 
For  save  that  Reason  rede  me  thereto,  I 'Id  rather  die!' 
'Now  do  I  here  command  thee,'  the  King  quoth  speedily, 
'In  haste  to  ride  make  ready,  and  fetch  me  Reason  here, 
Command  from  me  his  coming,  that  he  my  counsel  hear. 
For  he  shall  rule  my  realm  now,  by  his  rede  I'll  be  sped 
Of  Meed,  and  many  another,  and  who  with  her  shall  wed; 
And  hold  account  with  Conscience,  so  help  me  Christ  alway, 
Of  how  my  folk  thou  leadest,  the  learned,  and  the  lay.' 
'Fain  am  I  of  that  forward!'  Conscience,  he  quoth,  and  so. 
Rode  on  his  way  to  Reason,  in  his  ear  whispered  low,' 
And  said  e'en  as  the  King  sent,  and  straight  his  way  would 

go 
'For  riding  I'll  array  me,'  quoth  Reason,  'rest  ye  now,' 
Cato  his  knave  he  summoned,  courteous  of  speech  I  trow, 
'Saddle  my  steed  that's  called  '^ I-bide-my-time"  straightway 
And  see  that  well  thou  gird  him  with  many  girths,  I  pray. 
With  heavy  bridle  bit  him  that  low  his  head  he  bear. 
Yet  shall  he  neigh  full  often  ere  yet  he  cometh  there.' 
Then  Conscience,  on  his  charger,  he  pricked  him  forth  amain. 
And  Reason  with  him  riding,  to  hasten  were  they  fain. 
But  Wit  and  Wisdom  mounted  upon  a  wain  that  day. 
And  followed  fast  on  Reason,  for  that  it  chanced  that  they 
In  Chancery  and  Exchequer  would  fain  discharged  be 
And  fast  they  rode  that  Reason  might  rede  them  warily, 

[  274  ] 


^^e  (Pteton  of  (pier0  t^t  (pfoxoman 

To  save  themselves  from  shaming    and   harm,  as  at  that 

while  — 
But  Conscience  came  to  court  first,  by  distance  of  a  mile, 
And  hastening  forth  with  Reason  came  straight  unto  the  King. 
The  King  a  courteous  greeting  to  Reason  fain  would  bring, 
He  set  him  on  the  bench  there,  betwixt  him  and  his  son, 
Together  well  and  wisely  at  length  they  spake  anon. 
With  that  came  Peace  to  parley,  and  set  forth  in  a  Bill 
How  Wrong  his  wife  had  taken,  I  trow,  against  his  will; 
How  Rose,  one  Reynald's  leman,  ruthless,  he  ravished  there; 
And  Margaret  did  un-maiden,  nor  would  her  blushes  spare: 
'My  geese  and  swine  he  taketh,  with  them  his  men  be  fed, 
I  may  not  strive  nor  chide  them,  I  trow,  for  very  dread. 
He  borrowed  from  me  Bayard,  nor  brought  me  back  my 

steed, 
Nor  gave  a  farthing  for  him  for  aught  that  I  might  plead. 
His  men  he  but  maintaineth  that  murder  may  be  done. 
My  sales  he  aye  forestalleth,  beateth  my  bargains  down; 
He  breaketh  down  my  barn-door,  my  wheat  he  bears  away, 
Of  oats,  for  full  ten  quarter  will  but  by  tally  pay; 
And  therewith  doth  he  beat  me,  and  with  my  maid  doth  lie 
And  I  have  not  the  courage  to  face  him,  verily!' 
The  King,  he  knew  Peace  spake  sooth,  for  Conscience  told 

him  so,  — 
Then  Wrong  was  sore  affrighted,  to  Wisdom  did  he  go, 
And  money  there  he  proffered  his  peace  with  pence  to  buy. 
Quoth:  'Had  I  the  King's  favour,  then  little  care  had  I 

I  275  ] 


ZU  (Pteion  of  ^iite  (^i:  (pfoiwman 

Tho'  Peace  and  all  his  party  ceased  not  complaint  to  make.* 
With  that  he  went  forth,  Wisdom,  and  Wit  with  him  did 

take 
And  since  that  Wrong  had  wrought  thus,  and  dealt  thus 

wickedly, 
The  twain  spake  wisely  to  him,  and  warned  him  soothfastly: 
*Now  whoso  wilful  worketh,  he  stirs  up  Wrath,  I  trow, 
And  to  thyself  we  say  it,  thou  sure  shalt  prove  it  now, 
Save  Meed  shall  help  thy  mischief  thou  shalt  full  sorely  pay, 
Thy  life  and  lands,  they  lie  both  in  the  King's  Grace,  to-day.' 
Then  Wrong,  he  wept  full  sorely,  and  prayed  for  Wisdom's 

aid. 
And  for  his  secret  counsel  full  readily  he  paid. 
Wisdom  and  Wit  together  they  go  their  way  anon. 
And  Meed,  they  take  her  with  them,  that  Mercy  may  be  won. 
Peace  putteth  forth  his  head  there,  his  blood-stained   scalp 

doth  show: 
'Thus  was  I  harmed  all  guiltless,  as  God  doth  surely  know.* 
The  King,  I  trow,  and  Conscience,  full  well  the  truth  they 

knew, 
For  well  they  wot  of  old-time  that  Wrong  was  aye  a  shrew. 
But  Wit  and  Wisdom  swiftly  they  worked,  and  warily, 
To  overcome  with  chattels  the  King,  if  so  might  be; 
The  King,  by  Christ  he  sware  it,  and  by  his  crown  also, 
That  Wrong,  for  his  misdoing,  should  surely  suffer  woe, 
A  constable  commanded  that  he  in  irons  be  cast, 
*He  shall  not  see  his  feet  now  till  seven  years  be  past.* 

[  276  ] 


€U  (Piston  of  {pkvs  (^i  (pfouoman' 

*Nay,  nay,  God  wot,'  quoth  Wisdom,  *a  better  way  I  know, 
But  let  him  make  amends  here,  and  surety  bid  him  show, 
And  bail  now  let  him  borrow,  that  he  his  boot  now  buy. 
And  so  amend  his  misdeeds,  and  better  be  thereby.' 
And  Wit  therewith  accorded,  and  spake  thus  without  fail, 
*I  trow  that  it  be  better  for  Boot  to  lower  Bale 
Than  that  Bale  should  be  beaten,  nor  Boot  the  better  be.'    ■ 
Then  Meed,  she  sought  for  mercy,  in  all  humility. 
And  proffered  Peace  a  present,  't  was  all  of  pure  red  gold, 
'Take  this,'  she  quoth,  'for  mischief  amends  by  me  be  told, 
And  I  for  Wrong  will  wager  he'll  no  more  do  such  thing.' 
With  that  did  Peace,  full  piteous,  make  prayer  unto  the 

King, 
To  show  to  that  man  mercy  who  oft  misdeed  had  wrought  — 
*For  he  amends  hath  made  me,  as  Wisdom  him  hath  taught. 
Here  I  his  guilt  forgive  him,  of  right  goodwill  to-day. 
So  that  assent  ye  give  now,  I  think  no  more  to  say. 
Since  Meed  amends  hath  made  me,  I  may  not  ask  for  more  — * 
'Nay,  by  the  Bliss,'  the  King  quoth,  'God  hath  for  me  in 

store. 
Till  that  I  have  full  knowledge  from  hence  Wrong  goes  not 

free, 
An  he  escaped  so  lightly,  he  well  might  laugh  at  me, 
He  would  but  wax  the  bolder,  to  beat  my  men  alway. 
Save  Reason  can  release  him  he  in  the  stocks  must  stay 
Long  as  I  live,  I  trow  me,  for  greater  love  't  will  make  — *    . 
Then  some,  they  cried  on  Reason,  and  prayed  him  pity  take 

[  277  ] 


On  Wrong,  the  King  to  counsel,  and  Conscience  at  that  same, 
Straight  they  besought  that  Reason  should  Meed  for  surety 

name  — 
'Nay,  rede  me  not,'  quoth  Reason,    to  have  toward  him  ruth 
Until  all  lords  and  ladies  in  very  deed  love  Truth, 
And  Pernel  lay  her  finery  there,  her  trunks  aside. 
And  children  over-cherished  with  rod  shall  be  chastised. 
Till  holiness  of  harlot  receive  but  hind's  reward; 
And  Clerks  and  Knights,  henceforward,  be  courteous  of  their 

word, 
And  hating  riotous  living  forswear  for  aye  such  deed. 
And  Priests  approve  their  preaching  by  practice  of  their  rede, 
And  by  their  deeds  shall  draw  men  to  walk  in  Wisdom's  way  — 
St.  James's  shrine  be  sought  for  e'en  as  I  think  to  say, 
And  no  man  seek  Galicia  but  that  he  there  will  stay! 
They  who  to  Rome  be  runners,  for  robbers  who  dwelt  there, 
Across  the  sea  no  silver  with  the  King's  sign  shall  bear. 
Nor  groat  nor  gold  engraved  with  royal  crown  to  see 
Save  that,  if  found  at  Dover,  the  same  shall  forfeit  be; 
Save  Messengers,  or  Merchants,  or  Merchants'  men,  per- 
chance, 
Or  Priests,  or  eke  Provisors,  whom  the  Pope  doth  advance. 
Yet  by  the  Rood  (quoth  Reason)  no  ruth  I  '11  show  withal 
While  Meed  as  yet  hath  mastery  to  plead  within  this  hall! 
But  I  may  shov/  examples,  yea,  I,  myself,  do  say 
And  by  my  soul  I  swear  it,  if  it  were  so  alway 
That  I,  as  King,  were  crowned,  a  Kingdom  to  uphold, 

[  278  ] 


^^e  (VmoYi  of  ^kt^  (^t  (pfoxotnan 

Should  never  wrong  in  this  world,  an  it  to  me  were  told, 
Go  from  my  power  unpunished  lest  loss  my  soul  should  know, 
Nor  yet  by  gift  win  grace  here,  God  help  me  to  do  so! 
Nor  should  for  Meed  have  mercy,  but  for  Humility, 
For  truly  nullum  malum  should  know  impunity, 
Nor  irremuneratum  should  nullum  bonum  be! 
Now  let  thy  Clerks  in  English,  Sir  King,  these  words  con- 
strue, 
And  if  by  wit  thou  workest,  I  pledge  mine  ears  thereto. 
That  Law  full  soon  must  labour,  and  carry  dung  afield, 
With  Love  to  lead  thy  people  thy  rule  thou  light  shalt  wield! ' 
Then  Clerks  who  were  Confessors  they  took  them  counsel  here 
That  they  this  clause  construe  now,  and  make  its  meaning 

clear. 
When  Reason,  he  rehearsed  those  words  the  men  before, 
Was  none  within  that  hall  there,  or  were  they  less  or  more, 
But  Reason  held  for  Master,  judged  Meed  a  wretch,  I  trow  — 
Love  set  but  lightly  by  her,  to  scorn  he  laughs  her  now 
And  saith  to  her  so  loudly  that  Soothness  needs  must  hear, 
'Who  wills  for  wife  this  maiden,  holding  her  wealth  so  dear, 
As  cuckold  shall  be  holden,  or  cut  my  ears  off  both!' 
Wisdom,  and  Wit  his  fellow,  to  answer  they  were  loath. 
Neither  a  word  could  weave  there,  that  Reason  might  gainsay, 
Staring,  his  speech  they  studied,  and  stood  as  beasts  at  bay. 
The  King  (by  Christ  he  spake  it)  to  Reason  gave  accord 
Rehearsed  that  Reason's  showing  was  right  in  deed  and  word, 
*Yet,  by  my  head,  't  were  hard  now  to  govern  thus  to-day 

[  279  ] 


€U  (P{0{on  of  ^im  th  (pfoioman 

And  my  liege  men  to  lead  thus  upon  the  rightful  way!' 
'By  Christ  upon  the  Rood  rent,'  Reason  he  answered  there, 
'Save  that  thy  realm  I  rule  thus  my  ribs  asunder  tear 
If  it  be  so  Obedience  shall  give  assent  to  me  — ' 
The  King  quoth:  'That  I  grant  thee,  Our  Lady  witness  be, 
And  here  be  come  my  Council,  of  Clerks  and  Earls  it  is  — 
Yet  trow  me,  Reason,  swiftly  thou  rid'st  not  hence,  I  wis. 
For  long  as  be  my  lifetime  I  will  not  let  thee  go!' 
'Ready  were  I,'  quoth  Reason,  'to  rest  with  thee  also 
Were  Conscience  of  your  council  no  better  lot  I 'Id  know.' 
'That  boon  be  gladly  granted,  God  keep  him  aye  with  me, 
I  pray  for  all  my  lifetime  we  three  true  friends  may  be!' 

PASSUS    V 

With  that  the   King,  his   knights,  too,  to  Church  they  gat 

them  there 
Mattins  and  Mass  to  hearken,  and  then  to  meat  they  fare. 
I  wakened  from  my  vision  and  woe  was  me,  I  ween, 
I  had  not  slept  more  soundly,  and  thereby  more  had  seen. 
Ere  I  had  fared  a  furlong  faintness  did  o'er  me  creep. 
No  foot  might  I  go  further  for  sheer  default  of  sleep. 
Softly  adown  I  sat  me,  my  beads  began  to  tell, 
And  saying  of  my  Credo,  once  more  on  sleep  I  fell. 
Much  more,  I  trow,  was  shown  me  than  I  before  have  told, 
I  saw  that  field  all  full  of  folk  whereof  I  spake  of  old; 
Conscience,  a  Cross  upholding,  he  preached  to  them  that  day. 
And  that  the  folk  take  pity  upon  themselves  did  pray. 

[  280  ] 


t^t  (Pteion  of  (piere  t^t  (pfototnan 

The  Pestilence,  he  proved  it,  came  for  their  sins  alone, 
The  South-West  wind  that  lately  one  Saturday  had  blown. 
Was  meant  their  pride  to  punish,  no  reason  else  he  found, 
Before  it  pear  and  plum  trees  were  levelled  to  the  ground, 
To  give  to  men  ensample  their  lives  to  better  now; 
The  beeches  and  broad  oak  trees  were  blown  to  earth,  I  trow, 
And,  with  their  roots  turned  upward,  as  warning  dread  they 

lay 
That  deadly  sin  should  doom  men  to  loss  on  Judgment  Day. 
Methinks  upon  this  matter  full  long  my  speech  might  be, 
But  as  God  is  my  Helper,  I  say  what  I  did  see. 
How  Conscience  with  the  Cross  came  to  preach  the  folk  unto, 
Bade  Wasters  go  and  work  there,  e'en  as  they  best  might  do, 
And  win  that  which  they  wasted  by  such  craft  as  might  be  — 
Pernel,  he  prayed  her  straitly,  to  leave  her  finery 
And  keep  it  in  the  coffer,  against  a  time  of  need. 
Thomas  he  taught  with  staves  twain,  to  take  his  way  with 

speed, 
And  fetch  him  home  Felice  from  good-wives'  penalty; 
And  Wat's  wife,  so  he  warned  him,  from  blame  should  not 

be  free, 
Her  head-gear  had  a  mark  cost,  and  but  a  groat  his  hood  — 
Chapmen  he  charged  to  chasten  their  children  for  their  good. 
Nor  watchful  eye  be  wanting  whileas  they  youthful  be. 
Prelates  and  Priests  together  he  prayed  them  earnestly 
That  what  they  preached  the  people  they  should  in  practice 

prove 

[  281  ] 


C^e  (^mon  of  {pkxB  (^t  (J)fo)^man 

'Live  ye  as  ye  would  learn  us,  so  shall  ye  have  our  love.' 
Sithen,  he  bade  Religion  to  rule  with  stricter  sway 
'Lest  that  the  King  and  Council  your  lands  shall  take  away 
And  in  your  stead  be  Steward  till  better  rede  ye  learn. 
Ye,  who  St.  James  go  seeking,  to  Rome  your  faces  turn, 
St.  Truth  I  bid  ye  seek  now,  for  he  may  save  ye  all 
Qui  cum  Patre  et  Filio  —  May  fair  Fate  ye  befall.* 
Then  thither  ran  Repentance,  rehearsed  this  theme  right  well, 
Till  William  wept,  and  water  fast  from  his  eyes  it  fell; 
And  Pernel  proud-heart  laid  her  flat  on  the  ground  that  tide 
And  lay  long  ere  she  looked  up,  and  on  Our  Lady  cried, 
And  pledged  herself  full  truly  to  Him  who  all  hath  made 
To  throw  off  her  rich  raiment,  in  hair-shirt  be  arrayed. 
To  tame  her  flesh  to  frailty  and  sin  too  much  inclined: 
'No  more  by  pride  uplifted,  I'll  be  of  lowly  mind, 
And  silent,  suffer  slander,  for  that  was  ne'er  my  way; 
But  now  I  do  abase  me,  and  Mercy  meekl}^  pray 
That  I  aforetime  envy  within  mine  heart  did  hide.' 
Lechery,  loud  lamenting,  upon  Our  Lady  cried 
That  she  on  him  have  mercy,  and  on  his  sore  misdeed, 
And,  for  his  soul,  so  sinful,  to  God  should  intercede, 
By  token  that  on  Saturday  till  seven  years  were  o'er 
He 'Id  drink  with  the  ducks  only,  and  dine  but  once,  no  more. 
Envy,  with  heart  so  heavy,  he  craved  for  shrift  also, 
And  his  great  guilt  confessing,  his  sin  he  now  would  show. 
As  pale  as  any  pellet,  as  palsied  he  had  been, 
In  coarse  cloth  clad,  his  fashion  I  may  not  tell,  I  ween; 

[  282  ] 


Z^i  (Piston  of  (piers  (^  ^fouowan 

He  ware  a  cape  and  kirtle,  a  knife  was  at  his  side, 

As  Friar's  frock  were  fashioned  his  sleeves  both  long  and  wide. 

As  leek  that  hath  been  lying  long-time  beneath  the  sun 

So  with  lean  cheeks  looked  Envy,  scowling  on  every  one. 

All  swollen  was  his  body,  for  wrath  his  lips  he 'Id  bite, 

His   fist   fast   clenched  for  anger,   he 'Id   'venge  him,  if  he 

might 
With  works  or  words,  if  only  a  fitting  time  he  see  — 
Venom,  I  trow,  or  Verjuice,  or  Vinegar,  maybe, 
Within  my  belly  boileth,  and  waxeth  so  alway 
I  may  not  do  as  likes  me,  I  trow,  for  many  a  day. 
Such  wind  within  me  waxeth  ere  ever  dine  I  may. 
I  have  a  neighbour  nigh  me,  his  harm  full  oft  I  sought, 
Behind  his  back  I  blamed  him,  disgrace  upon  him  brought 
And  punished  him  full  often,  as  in  my  power  it  lay; 
To  lords  I  did  belie  him,  that  fines  he  needs  must  pay, 
With  my  false  tongue  I  turned  his  friend  into  a  foe, 
His  favour  and  good-fortune,  I  trow,  they  grieved  me  so. 
Betwixt  him  and  his  household  such  strife  by  me  was  made 
That  thro'  my  tongue  the  forfeit  In  life  and  limb  he  paid. 
When  I  in  market  met  him,  for  all  the  hate  I  bare, 
I  hailed  him  there  as  kindly  as  tho'  his  friend  I  were! 
Yet  hurt  I  scarce  may  do  him,  for  stronger  far  is  he  — 
Yet  had  I  might  and  mastery,  murdered  he  sure  should  be! 
When  to  the  Kirk  I  get  me,  and  kneel  before  the  Rood, 
To  pray  for  all  the  people,  as  the  Priest  saith  I  should, 
I  cry,  on  knee  low  bending:  'Christ  give  them  sorrow  meet 

[283  ] 


t^t  (Ptswn  of  (pietrg  t^i  (pfotowan 

Who  of  my  bowl  have  robbed  me,  and  ta'en  away  my  sheet. 
Then,  from  the  Altar  turning,  mine  eyes  must  needs  behold 
How  Heyne,  and  eke  his  good  wife,  have  new  coats  for  their 

old, 
I  would  't  were  mine,  their  vesture,  and  all  the  web  thereby! 
I  laugh  whenas  he  loses,  my  heart  for  joy  beats  high, 
And  if  so  be  he  winneth,  I  weep  and  wail  anon, 
I  doom  men  for  ill-doing,  and  worse  myself  have  done. 
Thro'  all  the  world  I  would  men  should  but  my  servants  be, 
Whoso  hath  more  than  I  have,  full  sore  it  angers  me. 
Thus  do  I  live  all  loveless,  like  an  ill  dog  withal, 
And  all  my  breast  it  swelleth  for  bitterness  of  gall. 
No  sugar  may  its  sweetness  to  cure  my  lack  impart 
Nor  ever  Diopendium  may  drive  it  from  my  heart. 
If  shrift  from  thence  may  sweep  It,  it  hath  a  wondrous  art!' 
'Yea,  truly,'  quoth  Repentance,  good  rede  he  read  him  then, 
'Sorrow  for  sin,  I  trow  me,  it  saveth  many  men.' 
'Sorry  am  I,'  quoth  Envy,  'and  seldom  else,  I  wot. 
And  that  but  mad  doth  make  me,  since  I  may  'venge  me  not.' 
Then  Covetousness  cometh,  his  fashion  faileth  me, 
So  hungry  and  so  hollow,  Sir  Hervey's  mien  should  be. 
And  beetle-browed  to  look  on,  with  bleared  eye  as  well. 
His  cheeks  all  loose  and  wrinkled  as  leathern  purse  they  fell. 
Clad  in  a  tattered  tabard,  that  saw  twelve  winters'  wear. 
And  did  a  louse  leap  on  It,  why  then  it  seemed  me  there 
It  might  not  far  have  wandered,  the  cloak  it  was  threadbare! 
This  Caitiff  quoth,  'I  Covetous  aforetime  was,  I  ween, 

[  284  ] 


Z^c  (Pi0ion  of  {pkxB  i2}t  (pfoi^man 

Sim  at  the  Oak,  his  servant  for  sometime  have  I  been, 
I  was  his  plighted  'prentice,  his  profits  were  my  care 
And  in  the  art  of  lying  I  first  took  lessons  there. 
To  weigh  and  measure  falsely  I  learnt  from  him  also, 
To  Winchester  and  Weyhill  at  Fair-time  did  I  go. 
With  merchandise  full  many,  e'en  as  my  master  bade. 
But  for  the  grace  of  Guile  I,  there  with  my  wares,  displayed, 
Unsold,  so  Heaven  help  me,  for  seven  years  they 'Id  be,  — 
Then  drawn  to  serve  the  Drapers,  I  learnt  my  ABC 
How  well  to  stretch  the  edging  that  longer  seemed  the  stuff. 
And  midst  their  fair  striped  fabrics  lessons  I  learned  enough, 
With  needle  neat  to  sew  them,  together  pleat  them  fair. 
Then  in  a  press  to  put  them,  and  so  to  pin  them  there 
Till  twelve,  or  maybe  ten,  yards  as  thirteen  one  might  sell. 
At  Westminster,  my  good  wife,  with  woollen  cloths  dealt  well; 
She  spake  unto  the  spinsters  to  spin  it  light  and  soft. 
The  pound  by  which  she  paid  it,  I  trow,  it  weighed  full  oft 
A  quarter  more  than  by  me  in  balance  tested  true. 
Then  did  I  buy  her  barley  that  she  for  sale  might  brew. 
And  Penny-ale,  and  Perry  I  trow,  she  poured  therein 
For  labourers,  and  poor  folk,  who  must  their  living  win. 
The  best,  in  the  bed-chamber,  beside  the  wall  it  lay 
And  whoso  thereof  tasted,  he  bought  the  same  straightway, 
And  paid  a  groat  the  gallon,  at  no  less  cost  't  was  his 
When  served  out  by  the  cup-full,  such  craft  was  her's  I  wis! 
Rose  the  Retailer  hight  she,  that  is  her  name,  I  trow, 
And  huckstery  she  holdeth  eleven  winters  now. 

[  285  ] 


^^e  (VmoYi  of  (pkxB  i^t  (pfoioman 

But  I  will  swear  now  soothly  such  sin  to  put  away, 
No  more  to  use  false  measure,  nor  wickedly  to  weigh. 
To  Walsingham  I  '11  wend  me,  with  Rose  my  wife  straight- 
way 
And  pray  the  Rood  of  Brunholm  that  we  our  debts  may  pay. 
Now  Gluttony  beginneth  to  think  of  shriving  there, 
And  for  to  make  confession  kirkward  he  fain  would  fare; 
Betun  the  brewster  met  him,  'Good-morrow'  did  she  say, 
And  straight  she  askethof  him,' Whither  dost  take  thy  way?' 
'To  Holy  Church,'  so  quoth  he,  'to  hearken  Mass  I'm  fain, 
And  there  will  I  be  shriven,  and  never  sin  again.' 
She  quoth:  'Now  Gossip  Glutton,  my  good  ale  wilt  assay?' 
'Hast  thou,'  he  quoth,  'hot  spices  here  to  thine  hand  to-day?' 
*  Yea,  Glutton  Gossip,'  quoth  she, '  in  spices  I  'm  well  found, 
Pepper  have  I,  and  Piones,  and  Garlic  by  the  pound. 
And  Fennel  by  the  farthing,  for  fasting-day  't  is  meet  — ' 
Then  Gluttony,  he  entered,  and  others  did  he  greet, 
Found  Cis  on  the  bench  sitting,  the  cobbler's  wife  was  she, 
Wat,  with  his  wife  beside  him,  he  Warrener  should  be, 
Tomkyn  was  there,  the  tinker,  two  knaves  with  him  as  well. 
The  Ostler  Hick,  and  with  him  Hogg,  who  did  needles  sell. 
Clarice  of  Cook's  Lane  sat  there,  the  parish  Clerk  beside. 
Sir  Pers  was  there,  of  Pridye,  Pernel  of  Flemish  pride; 
And  there  was  Daw  the  ditcher,  and  full  a  dozen  told, 
A  Player  on  the  rebeck,  a  Raker  of  the  mold, 
A  Rat-catcher,  a  Roper,  and  Rose  who  dishes  sold. 
Of  Garlickhithe  was  Godfrey,  Griffin,  the  Welshman  born, 

[  286  ] 


^^e  (Pmon  of  ^kxB  (^t  (pfoi^man 

And  of  upholsterers  many  who,  thus,  at  early  morn 
With  right  goodwill  gave  Glutton  good  ale  as  gift  that  tide; 
Clement  was  there,  the  cobbler,  his  cloak  he  cast  aside 
And  offered  it  for  barter,  he  laid  it  there  to  sell, 
The  Ostler  Hick,  he  proffered  his  hood  for  sale  as  well, 
And  bade  that  Bet  the  butcher  for  him  the  bargain  tell. 
With  that  were  chapmen  chosen,  the  wares  they  should  ap- 
praise. 
He,  who  the  hood  had  holden,  should  have  amends  always. 
With  that  they  rose  up  swiftly  and  strove  together  there, 
The  penny-worths,  they  praised  them,  and  would  the  portions 

share 
And  they  who  spake  and  hearkened,  full  many  an  oath  they 

sware! 
They  could  not  on  their  conscience  accord  in  any  wise, 
Till  that  the  Roper,  Robin,  was  forced  by  them  to  rise 
Named  of  them  all  as  umpire,  that  strife  to  end  be  brought 
The  pledges,  to  appraise  them  even  as  best  he  thought, 
He  spake  that  Hick  the  ostler  the  cloak  have  of  good  will, 
By  covenant  that  Clement  the  cup  should  rightly  fill; 
And  take  Hick's  hood  unto  him,  and  hold  It  for  good  pay, 
And  he  who  first  repented  he  should  arise  straightway 
And  give  Sir  Glutton  greeting,  nor  drink  thereto  should  fail,  • 
And  so  they  laughed  and  loitered,  and  cried,  'Now  pass  the 

ale!' 
And  beverages  and  bargains  were  made  them  all  among  — 
And  so  they  sat  and  sang  there  till  it  vv^as  Evensong, 

[  287  ] 


t^i  (piston  of  ^im  (U  ^foujtnan" 

And  Glutton,  he  had  gulped  down  a  gallon  full  ere  long. 

Till  he  his  staff  had  taken  he  had  no  strength  to  go, 

But  like  a  gleeman's  dog  still  he  wavered  to  and  fro, 

Sometimes  aside  he  wandered,  then  backward  took  his  way, 

As  one  to  catch  the  small  birds  his  lines  with  care  doth  lay. 

When  nigh  unto  the  doorway  his  eyes  waxed  dim  anon, 

He  stumbled  on  the  threshold,  and  on  the  ground  fell  prone. 

Clement  the  cobbler  caught  him,  fast  by  the  middle  made, 

And  for  aloft  to  lift  him  upon  his  knees  he  laid. 

But  Glutton  was  a  great  churl,  a  heavy  load  to  bear  — 

With  all  the  woe  in  this  world  his  v/ife  and  servant  there 

Homeward  to  bed  they  bare  him,  and  laid  him  safe  therein, 

And  after  this,  his  surfeit,  such  sickness  did  he  win. 

All  Saturday  and  Sunday  he  slept  till  set  of  sun, 

Then  from  his  sleep  he  wakened,  and  wiped  his  eyes  anon. 

And  with  his  first  word  queried,  'Where  now  the  cup  might 

be?' 
His  wife,  she  did  upbraid  him  for  wickedness,  till  he 
Was  by  her  words  sore  shamed,  and  scratched  his  ears,  I  trow 
And  grimly  did  he  greet  there,  and  dole  he  made  enow, 
For  this,  his  life  so  wicked,  that  he  had  lived  afore  — 
'Now  here  I  make  avowing,  for  thirst  nor  hunger  sore 
Shall  never  fish  on  Friday  by  me  digested  be 
Save  Abstinence  mine  Aunt,  she  permission  give  me  free, 
Whom  from  my  heart  I  've  hated  the  while  in  life  I  be!' 
Then  Sloth,  for  sorrow  swooning,  upon  the  ground  he  lies, 
Till  Vigilance,  the  Watchman,  cast  water  in  his  eyes, 

[  288  ] 


C^e  (Pmon  of  ^kxB  (^t  (pfouoman 

And  on  the  face  he  smote  him,  and  cried  on  him  that  day: 
'Against  Despair  I  warn  thee,  that  shall  thee  sure  betray, 
Now  to  thyself  say  surely,  "  I  sorrow  for  my  sin!" 
And  on  thy  breast  now  beating,  pray  God  His  Grace  to  win. 
For  ne'er  so  great  hath  Guilt  been  that  Mercy  was  not  more,' 
Then  Sloth,  upright  he  sat  him,  and  oft  he  sighed  full  sore 
A  vow  to  God  he  made  there,  his  foul  sloth  to  amend, 
That  ne'er  should  come  a  Sunday,  till  seven  years  should  end, 
(Save  he  were  let  for  sickness)  that,  ere  the  dawn  of  day 
Like   monk,  to  Mass  and  matins,  to  church  he  'Id  take  his 

way. 
*Nor  after  meat  I  '11  linger,  altho'  the  ale  be  good 
Till  Evensong  I  've  hearkened,  I  swear  it  by  the  Rood. 
And  back  again  I'll  give  it,  if  that  I  so  may  do. 
All  that  by  sin  I  won  me  since  I  had  wit  thereto. 
Tho'  livelihood  be  lacking,  yet  ne'er  for  that  I'll  stay, 
But  each  shall  have  his  own  back  ere  that  I  go  my  way. 
With  residue  and  remnant,  on  Chester's  Rood  I  swear 
Saint  Truth  I  will  go  seeking,  ere  yet  to  Rome  I  fare.' 
Then  Robert,  he  the  robber,  on  restitution  thought. 
And  sooth  he  wept  full  sorely  to  find  not  what  he  sought, 
Yet  in  his  heart  the  sinner  still  to  himself  did  say: 
'Christ,  who  on  Cross  fast  nailed,  on  Calvary  died  that  day, 
When  Dysmas,  he  my  brother,  for  Grace  there  prayed  to 

Thee, 
On  that  man  didst  have  mercy,  for  his  "Remember  me." 
Now  work  Thy  Will  upon  me,  who  have  deserved  well 

[  289  ] 


Z^t  (Pinion  of  pirn  t^t  ^(otoman 

Save  for  that  one  hope  only,  to  burn  for  aye  in  Hell. 

Have  ruth  for  me  now,  Robert,  for  little  rede  have  I, 

Nor  ween  to  win  to  Heaven  by  craft  or  subtlety, 

But  for  Thy  mickle  Mercy,  I  pray  Thee  in  my  need 

Condemn  me  not  on  Doomsday  for  this  my  evil  deed!' 

Now  what  befell  this  felon  I  may  not  truly  tell, 

But  well  I  wot  he  wept  fast,  and  swift  the  drops  down  fell, 

As  he  his  guilt  acknowledged,  to  Christ  made  promise  true 

That  Penitence,  his  pike  staff,  he 'Id  polish  now  anew, 

His  lifetime  long  to  journey  with  this  o'er  land  was  fain, 

Lucifer's  brother,  Latro,  with  him,  too  long  he'd  lain. 

With  that,  of  men  a  thousand  together  throng  with  speed, 

With  weeping  sore,  and  wailing,  for  this,  their  evil  deed. 

To  Christ  their  cries  rise  upward,  they  to  His  Mother  pray 

For  grace  Saint  Truth  to  seek  now  —  God  grant  them  this 

alway! 

PASSUS    VI 

Now  forth  that  folk  have  ridden,  or  yet  afoot  they  range, 
To  seek  that  Saint  fast  speeding  thro'  distant  lands  and 

strange; 
Few  men,  I  trow,  among  them  were  wise  enough  to  know 
The  way,  like  beasts  forth  bustling,  o'er  hill  and  vale  they  go. 
While  at  their  will  they  wandered,  I  trow,  they  went  astray, 
A  man  at  last  hath  met  them  when  long  upon  their  way. 
Apparelled  as  a  Palmer,  in  pilgrim's  weed  all  told, 
A  staff  with  broad  list  bounden  he  in  his  hand  did  hold. 
In  wise  as  't  were  a  wood-bine  about  the  staff  't  was  tied, 

[  290  ] 


Zh  (Piston  of  (piere  (^t  (pfoiomcin 

And  bag  and  bowl,  I  trow  me,  he  bare  them  at  his  side. 

His  hat  bare  of  ampullae  a  hundred  all  arow, 

And  signs  of  Sinai  had  he,  with  scallop  shells  to  show. 

His  cloak  bare  many  crosses,  with  Keys  of  Rome  't  was 

wrought, 
The  Vernicle  upon  it,  that  men  mistake  him  naught. 
But  by  these  signs  see  clearly  the  shrines  that  he  had  sought. 
Then  fair,  this  folk  they  asked  him,  from  whence  he  came 

alway  ? 
*From  Sinai  and  the  Sepulchre,'  he  answered  them  straight- 
way, 
'From  Bethlehem  and  Babylon,  both  cities  have  I  seen, 
In  India,  and  Asia,  and  many  a  land  I  've  been; 
By  these,  my  signs,  ye '11  see  well,  that  on  my  hat  are  set, 
That  widely  have  I  wandered,  by  weather  dry  or  wet, 
And  sought  good  Saints  that  healing  my  soul  thereby  might 

get.' 
*Dost  know  a  Saint  most  holy,  Saint  Truth  men  do  him  call, 
Can'st  on  the  way  direct  us  to  find  his  home  withal?' 
*Nay,  so  God  give  me  gladness,'  the  man  made  answer  there, 
*For  never  saw  I  Palmer  who  staff  and  scrip  did  bear 
Who  for  such  saint  was  seeking,  or  to  such  shrine  would  fare!* 
*  By  Peter,'  quoth  a  Ploughman,  and  stept  from  out  the  throng 
*I  know  him  e'en  as  closely  as  Clerk  doth  know  Plainsong, 
For  Common-sense  and  Conscience,  they  led  me  there  o£ 

yore, 
And  in  his  service  surely  I'll  bide  for  evermore; 

[  291  ] 


€^t  (Pteion  of  (piers  (^t  (pfoioman 

For  him  to  sow  and  plant  still  while  that  my  strength  shall 

last 
For  I  have  been  his  servant  these  fifteen  winters  past, 
To  sow  his  seed,  his  cattle  to  follow  in  the  field 
And  eke  his  corn  to  harvest,  and  carry  home  the  yield. 
I  ditched  for  him,  and  delved,  his  bidding  follow  fair, 
Within,  without,  untiring,  I  for  his  profit  care; 
Amid  his  folk  no  labourer  shall  dearer  to  Him  be, 
Tho'  I  myself  shall  say  it.  He  is  well  pleased  with  me! 
From  Him  I  have  good  payment,  at  times  be  over-paid, 
He  is  the  promptest  payer  that  e'er  a  poor  man  prayed, 
From  none  his  hire  withholding,  at  eve  pays  all  and  each. 
He  as  a  lamb  is  humble,  and  gentle  in  His  speech, 
And  if  ye  will  I  show  ye  where  He  abides  to-day 
To  this  His  home  and  dwelling  I  well  may  lead  the  way.' 
*Yea,  dear  Piers,'  quoth  the  Palmer,  and  money  proffered 

there. 
Quoth  Piers,  'By  my  soul's  peril — '  and  therewith  straitly 

sware 
'I  will  not  take  a  farthing,  for  all  Saint  Thomas'  shrine, 
For  many  a  day  thereafter  less  love  from  Truth  were  mine. 
But  ye  who  wend  unto  Him,  by  this  way  shall  ye  go  — 
First  must  ye  pass  thro'  Meekness,  both  man  and  wife  also. 
Till  ye  be  come  to  Conscience,  who  Christ's  own  Truth  doth 

show  — 
That  ye  shall  love  Him  better  than  Life,  which  ye  hold  dear, 
And  next  to  Him  your  neighbour,  nor  deal  in  such  way  here 

[  292  ] 


Z^t  f^ieion  of  ^kte  i^t  (pfoi»man 

Save  but  as  thou  desirest  that  men  should  deal  with  thee  — 
Follow  a  brook,  whose  name  is  "  Your  speech  shall  courteous  be^^ 
The  ford,  "  Your  fathers  honour^^  there  shall  ye  find,  I  trow, 
Wade  ye  into  that  water,  and  wash  ye  well  enow. 
And  all  your  life  thereafter  ye  shall  more  lightly  go  — 
Then  "Swear  not  save  't  is  needful,^'  ye  shall  before  ye  know, 
And,  "Take  thou  not  all  lightly  the  Name  of  God  most  High"  — 
Then  to  a  croft  ye  come  well,  but  that  ye  shall  pass  by, 
"Covet  not,"  it  is  called,  "  another^ s  kine  nor  wife, 
Nor  e^en  another's  servant,  nor  aught  that  wakens  strife^^ 
Look  that  ye  break  no  bough  there,  save  that  it  be  thine 

own,  — 
Anigh,  two  stocks  be  standing,  but  pass  thou  swiftly  on, 
"Slay  not"  they  're  named,  and  "Steal  not,"  both  shall  by  ye  be 

past, 
Leave  them  upon  the  lefthand,  nor  backward  glances  cast,    . 
Thy  holy  day  be  holden  full  well  till  eventide. 
The  brook"  Bear  no  false  witness"  irom  that  turn  thou  aside, 
*T  is  all  adorned  with  florins,  and  oaths  wax  fast  and  thick, 
Thy  soul  wouldst  save  from  peril,  beware  a  plant  to  pick. 
Then  shalt  thou  soon  see  "  Say  sooth,  if  in  thy  power  it  be, 
And  look  well  that  thou  lie  not  for  any  man^s  decree"  — 
So  to  a  Court  thou  comest,  as  sunshine  clear  't  is  found, 
And  all  the  moat  is  Mercy  that  runs  that  manor  round, 
The  walls  of  Wit  are  builded,  that  Will's  assault  may  brave, 
The  battlements  of  Christendom,  that  many  folk  shall  save. 
With  sure  Belief  't  is  buttressed,  the  same  shall  save  us  all, 

[  293  ] 


Z^t  (Pi0iott  of  {pkve  (^t  (pfoientan 

And  every  house  is  roofed  there,  be  it  or  bower  or  hall, 
With  Love,  all  Lead  is  lacking,  ''As  Brethren  are  ye  one"  — 
The  tower  wherein  Truth  dwelleth  is  set  above  the  sun. 
He  dealeth  with  the  Day-Star,  e'en  as  it  seems  Him  best, 
And  Death,  he  dare  do  nothing  against  Truth's  high  behest. 
Grace  at  His  gate  is  warder,  a  good  man,  sooth  to  tell. 
His  servant  is  "Amend  thou,'^  full  many  know  him  well. 
Give  thou  to  him  this  token,  't  is  known  of  Truth  alway, 
"  /  have  performed  the  penance  the  priest  on  me  did  lay, 
Sore  for  my  sins  I  sorrow,  and  so  should  I  do  e'er 
Oft  as  I  think  upon  them  altho'  a  Pope  I  were''  — 
Then  shalt  thou  bid  "Amend  thou,"  unto  his  master  pray 
The  wicket  gate  to  open,  that  now  doth  bar  the  way 
Because  both  Eve  and  Adam  ate  what  their  bane  should  be  — 
Altho'  the  King,  He  sleepeth,  yet  Grace  doth  keep  the  key 
And  if  so  be  he  grant  thee  in  such  wise  thro'  to  go 
Then  Truth  Himself  enthroned  within  thine  heart  shalt  know, 
Look  thou  that  well  thou  love  Him,  and  that  His  law  thou 

hold! 
But  be  of  Wrath  right  wary,  for  wicked  he  of  old. 
And  on  his  side  is  Envy,  that  in  thine  heart  doth  dwell. 
And  Pride,  that  surely  spurs  thee  to  praise  thyself  o'er-well. 
If  Good  deeds  wax  to  Boldness,  thine  eyes  they  sure  shall 

blind. 
So  shalt  thou  thence  be  driven,  and  the  door  shut  behind 
Securely  barred  and  bolted  to  keep  thee  from  its  bliss, 
Haply  ere  years  a  hundred  thou  shalt  not  pass,  I  wis. 

[  294  1 


tU  (Ptewn  of  (pkvs  (^i  (pfotoman 

Thus  may  His  Love  be  lost  now  by  thy  Self-will  alway, 

By  Grace  again  may'st  win  it,  but  ne'er  by  gift  or  pay. 

But  there  be  Seven  Sisters,  servants  to  Truth  they  be 

As  porters  at  the  postern  these  seven  may  ye  see, 

One  Abstinence  is  called,  Humility,  her  pair; 

And  Charity,  and  Chastity,  the  twain  be  maidens  fair; 

Patience  and  Peace  full  many  have  helped  to  bliss  to  win; 

And  Largesse,  gracious  lady,  she  leadeth  many  in. 

The  kindred  of  these  sisters,  so  help  me  God  on  high, 

Therein  is  wondrous  welcome,  received  right  graciously. 

But  save  we  may  claim  kinship  with  these  same  sisters  fair, 

By  my  head,  hard  we  '11  find  it,  to  all  I  now  declare. 

To  win  at  that  gate  entrance,  save  grace  the  more  be  there!' 

*By  Christ  then,'  quoth  a  Cut-Purse,  'no  kin  am  I,  I  wot!' 

'Nay,' quoth  an  Ape-ward  swiftly,  'methinks  I  know  them  not!' 

Quoth  a  Wayfarer,  wistful,  '  If  this  were  sooth,  I  know, 

That  for  no  Friar's  preaching  a  foot  I  'Id  further  go!' 

*  Yea,'  then  spake  Piers  the  Ploughman,  and  showed  them  all 

forthright, 
'There  dwells  a  Maiden  Mercy,  who  o'er  them  all  hath  might, 
With  Sinners  hath  she  kinship,  yea,  and  her  Son  also. 
And  if  the  twain  will  aid  ye,  (none  other  help  ye  '11  know,) 
Ye  may  find  grace  sufficient  within  that  gate  to  go!' 

PASSUS   VH 

'Methinks  this  way  were  wicked,  save  that  a  guide  we  gain 
Whose  footsteps  we  might  follow,  and  to  that  goal  attain  — ' 

[  295  ] 


t^t  (^ieion  of  ^im  (^t  (pfoi^man 

*By  Peter  the  Apostle,'  the  ploughman,  Piers,  did  say, 
*I  harrow  an  half-acre  that  lies  by  the  high-way. 
An  once  I  well  had  ploughed  it,  then  would  I  wend  with  ye 
And  on  the  right  road  guide  ye,  till  Truth  Himself  ye  see.' 
'But  that  were  a  long  waiting,'  a  veiled  lady  cried. 
What  shall  we  do,  we  women,  while  we  your  will  abide?* 
*Some  shall  sew  sacks  that  safely  the  wheat  be  stored  therein, 
Ye  wives  who  have  wool  with  you,  see  that  the  same  ye  spin 
Yea,  speedily  now  spin  it,  nor  for  sore  fingers  leave, 
Save  Holy-Day  be  holden,  or  eke  a  Holy  Eve. 
And  look  ye  out  your  linen,  and  labour  fast  thereon, 
The  Needy  and  the  Naked,  take  heed  to  them  anon. 
Against  the  cold  now  clothe  them  for  so  Truth's  will  shall  be; 
For  livelihood  I  '11  find  them  save  the  land  faileth  me 
While  life  be  mine,  for  His  Love  who  high  in  Heaven  doth 

sit  — 
And  ye,  ye  lovely  Ladies,  with  fingers  long,  to  wit, 
Who  have  both  silk  and  sendal,  I  bid  ye  sew  it  there 
In  Chasubles  for  Chaplains,  and  deck  your  churches  fair. 
And  men  of  every  manner,  all  ye  who  live  by  meat, 
Help  him  to  work  with  vigour  who  winneth  what  ye  eat.' 
*By  Christ,'  a  knight  quoth  boldly,  'thy  rede  it  seemeth  fair. 
But  saving  one  time  truly  thus  taught  have  I  been  ne'er,' 
Quoth  the  knight, 'Teach  me  only,  and  I  will  learn  to  plough 
And  help  thee  in  thy  labour  while  life  doth  last,  I  trow.' 
Quoth  Piers:  'Now,  by  Saint  Peter,  for  these  thy  words, 
i-troth, 

.  [  296  1 


€U  ©ieion  of  ^itte  t^i  (pfotontan 

I  '11  toll  and  sweat  right  gladly,  and  sow  seed  for  us  both, 
And  for  thy  love  will  labour  my  life  long,  verily. 
By  covenant  that  thou  keepest  both  Holy  Church  and  me 
From  wicked  men,  and  wasters,  who  would  us  fain  destroy  — 
In  hunting  hares  and  foxes  thou  shalt  thy  time  employ, 
And  bears  and  bucks  go  chasing,  they  break  my  hedges  still, 
And  fetch  thee  home  thy  falcons  that  they  the  wild  fowl  kill 
That  haunt  my  croft,  and  rob  me  of  these,  my  crops  of  wheat.' 
With  that,  the  knight,  full  courteous,  answered  in  fashion 

meet: 
'Now  Piers,  by  this  my  power,  I  plight  my  troth  to  thee 
Thus  to  fulfil  our  forward  while  life  be  left  to  me.' 
'Yet  one  point,'  quoth  Piers  plainly,  *no  more  of  thee  I  pray, 
Trouble  thou  ne'er  a  tenant  save  Truth  assent  alway, 
And  if,  or  gift,  or  present,  by  poor  man  proffered  be, 
Take  it  not,  lest  it  happen  thou  undeserving  be, 
For  then  must  thou  repay  it,  when  the  year's  end  doth  fall 
Within  a  place  of  peril  men  Purgatory  call. 
And  ne'er  misuse  thy  bondmen,  so  shalt  thou  speed  thee  well; 
Thyself,  of  tongue  be  truthful,  and  hate  vain  tales  to  tell. 
Save  but  of  wit  or  wisdom,  thy  workmen  to  amend. 
Hold  no  discourse  with  ribalds,  nor  ear  unto  them  lend. 
And  above  all  at  meal-times,  do  thou  such  men  eschew. 
They  be  the  Devil's  jesters,  that  do  I  tell  thee  true!' 
*  By  Saint  James,'  quoth  the  Knight  then, '  thereto  do  I  assent, 
And  by  thy  word  I  '11  work  now,  while  life  to  me  is  lent! ' 
*I  shall  me  now  apparel,'  quoth  Piers,  'in  pilgrim's  weed 

[  297  ] 


t^i  (Pteion  of  (ptetrfir  (^  (pfotomatt 

And  wend  with  ye  the  right  way  till  Truth  ye  find  indeed.' 

His  clothes  he  cast  upon  him,  but  ragged  clouts  were  they, 

Did  on  his  cuffs  and  gaiters  to  keep  the  cold  away, 

Instead  of  scrip  a  hopper  he  on  his  back  did  sling 

And  of  bread  corn  a  bushel  therein  he  thought  to  bring  — 

'For  I  myself  would  sow  it,  and  sithen  with  ye  go, 

Who  helpeth  me  to  harrow,  or  toil  with  me  would  know 

By  Christ  he  shall  at  harvest  the  richer  hire  receive, 

With  corn  shall  make  him  merry  tho'  grudging  souls  may 

grieve. 
And  every  kind  of  craftsmen  who  know  by  Truth  to  live 
A  faithful  life,  right  freely  their  food  to  them  I  '11  give. 
Save  only  Jack  the  Jongleur,  and  Janet  of  loose  life, 
And  Robert,  he  the  Ribald,  whose  evil  tales  be  rife. 
For  Truth  one-while  he  taught  me,  I  tell  ye  for  your  weal, 
CDeleantur  de  libro''),  with  them  ye  shall  not  deal. 
For  Holy  Church  is  holden  no  tithe  from  such  to  take, 
{Et  cum  justis  7ion  scrihantur)  — 

Thus  they  be  spared  from  saving,  may  God  them  better  make! 
Piers'  wife,  she  shall  be  named  ''Work  while  the  time  is  meet,'* 
His  daughter,  ''Do  ye  rightly,"  or,  "  your  Dame  will  ye  beat "  ; 
His  son,  "  Thy  sovereign  suffer  to  do  his  will  alway. 
And  judge  him  not  else  surely  thou  shalt  full  dearly  pay.** 
Let  God  o'er  all  be  Dealer,  so  in  His  Word  't  is  shewn  — 
Now  am  I  old  and  hoary,  and  have  goods  of  mine  own 
To  pilgrimage  and  penance  with  this  folk  would  I  fare 
Therefore,  ere  hence  I  wend  me  my  Will  I  would  declare  — 

[  298  ] 


Z^i  (Pieion  of  {pkte  t^t  (pfouoman 

And  thus  In  Dei  nomine,  Amen,  I  make  behest, 

My  soul  to  Him  bequeathing  Who  hath  deserved  it  best, 

From  the  foul  Fiend  defending,  for  so  I  well  believe. 

Till,  as  my  Creed  doth  tell  me  my  judgment  I  receive, 

When  I  shall  find  remission,  release  of  rental  there  — 

I  leave  my  Bones  and  Body  to  Holy  Church's  care. 

For  of  my  corn  and  cattle  she  taketh  tithe  and  toll, 

And  I  have  paid  the  priest  well  for  peril  of  my  soul, 

Thus  he,  I  hope,  is  holden  in  mind  to  have  me  aye, 

In  memory  to  keep  me  mid  Christian  folk  alway. 

My  wife  shall  have  my  winnings,  and  lawful  gain,  no  more, 

And  deal  to  my  dear  children  and  friends  of  this,  my  store. 

For,  an  this  were  my  death-day,  I  owe  to  no  man  aught, 

But  bare  back  what  I  borrowed,  ere  yet  my  bed  I  sought. 

With  residue  and  remnant,  on  Chester's  Rood  I  swear 

That  unto  Truth  my  life  long,  true  worship  I  will  bear. 

At  plough  will  be  his  pilgrim,  I  trow,  for  poor  men's  sake. 

With  plough-foot  for  my  pike  staff  the  roots  from  ground  to 

break, 
And,  carven  by  my  coulter  I  '11  close  the  furrows  make.' 
Now  Piers,  and  eke  the  pilgrims,  to  plough  their  way  have 

made. 
To  harrow  his  half-acre  full  many  lend  their  aid; 
The  Ditchers,  and  the  Delvers  the  ridges  dig  amain. 
That  well  hath  pleased  Perkyn,  to  praise  them  was  he  fain; 
And  many  other  workmen,  I  trow,  about  him  wrought, 
And  each  man  in  his  manner  to  busy  him  he  sought. 

[  299  1 


€i^i  (Piston  of  ipim  t^i  (pfouoman 

And  some  to  pleasure  Perkyn  to  weeding  set  their  hand  —  "' 
At  high  prime  Piers  the  Ploughman,  he  brought  his  plough  to 

stand, 
Himself  would  overlook  them,  and  see  who  best  had  done. 
He  should  be  hired  hereafter  when  harvest  time  had  come. 
But  some,  adown  they  sat  them,  at  ale  they  fain  would  sing, 
To  help  him  with  his  harrow  'Hey  trolley-lolley'  bring; 
Wrathful,  Piers  called  to  witness  the  Prince  of  Paradise, 
'But  that  to  work  ye  get  ye,  and  from  your  revel  rise, 
No  grain  on  this  ground  growing  to  glad  your  need  shall  fall, 
Nay,  tho'  ye  die  for  hunger,  the  Devil  take  ye  all!' 
These  rogues  were  sore  affrighted,  some  feigned  them  blind,  I 

trow, 
And  some,  their  legs  they  twisted,  as  rogues  know  well  enow, 
And  thus  to  Piers  the  Ploughman  made  plaint  full  piteouslie, 
'The  Lord  be  thanked,  for  labour  no  limbs,  I  trow,  have  we. 
But  for  ye,  and  your  plough.  Piers,  we   lift  our  prayers  on 

high, 
That  God  to  us  be  gracious,  and  our  grain  multiply, 
And  for  your  alms  repay  ye,  that  ye  on  us  bestow, 
We  may  not  sweat  nor  labour  since  sickness  lays  us  low.' 
Quoth  Piers:  'An  sooth  ye  say  now,  that  shall  I  soon  espy, 
I  wot  ye  be  but  Wastrels,  Truth  knows  it,  verily. 
For  I  am  his  true  servant,  and  so  to  warn  him  bound 
Where  in  the  world  such  Wastrels  are  'mid  his  Workmen 

found. 
Ye  eat  what  is  their  portion  who  for  us  all  do  plough 

[  300  ] 


t^t  (Pteion  of  (pterflr  t^t  (pfotoman 

But  Truth,  he  soon  shall  teach  you  to  drive  his  team,  I  trow. 

To  sow  his  corn,  and  set  it,  and  well  his  tilth  to  keep. 

The  crows,  from  corn  to  scare  them,  and  guard  his  kine  and 

sheep. 
Or  ye  shall  drink  brook-water,  and  eat  of  barley-bread  — 
But  blind,  and  broken-legged,  and  those  who  keep  their  bed, 
Shall  fare  as  well  as  I  do,  God  helping  me,  alway. 
Till  of  His  Grace  He  grant  them  to  rise  and  go  their  way. 
And  Anchorites,  and  Hermits,  who  keep  them  to  their  cell, 
Long  as  I  live,  right  freely,  mine  alms  I  '11  to  them  tell. 
Enough  each  day  at  noon-tide,  but  no  more  till  the  morn. 
Lest  Fiend  or  Flesh  defile  them,  and  leave  their  soul  forlorn. 
Enow  one  meal  at  noon-tide  for  him  who  worketh  not. 
He  doth  abide  the  better  who  drinks  not  oft,  I  wot.' 
With  that  arose  the  Wastrels,  would  fain  have  fought  anon, 
And  unto  Piers  the  Ploughman  one  threw  his  glove  adown, 
A  Breton  he,  a  braggart,  to  boast  himself  he  gave, 
Bade  Piers  go  back  to  ploughing  for  a  bald-headed  knave, 
'Thy  flour,  we  think  to  have  it,  be  it  thy  will  or  no. 
Take  of  thy  flesh  our  portion  when  it  shall  please  us  so. 
Therewith  to  make  us  merry  despite  thy  face  of  woe!' 
Straightway  did  Piers  complain  him  unto  the  Knight,  and 

then 
By  covenant  besought  him  to  keep  off  wicked  men. 
And  wasters,  who,  the  winners  to  harm,  in  wait  would  lie  — 
As  to  his  kind  belongeth,  the  Knight  spake  courteously, 
He  warned  well  the  wasters  the  better  way  to  take  — 

[  301  ] 


€^t  (Pteion  of  (piers  i^t  (pfototnan 

'Or  pay  to  law  the  forfeit,  for  this,  my  Order's  sake.' 
'Ne'er  worked  I,'  quoth  a  Wastrel,  'nor  will  for  any  stress  — ' 
And  of  the  Law  made  little,  and  of  the  Knight,  still  less, 
Vowed  Piers,  and  this,  his  plough,  both,  they  were  not  worth  a 

pea, — 
Him  and  his  men  he  menaced  when  next  he  should  them  see. 
Quoth  Piers  the  Ploughman,  v/rathful,  'On  peril  of  my  soul 
For  these  proud  words  and  boastful  I  '11  take  of  ye  full  toll.' 
With  that  he  hailed  Hunger,  who  heard,  and  came  at  call  — 
'These  Wasters  this  world  ruin,  wreak  vengeance  on  them 

air  — 

Then  hastily  hath  Hunger  the  Waster  to  him  caught, 
And  by  the  belly  wrung  him,  tears  to  his  eye  he  brought, 
He  buffeted  the  Breton  on  cheeks  with  buffets  strong. 
Thereafter  like  a  lantern  he  looked  his  whole  life  long. 
The  beggars  hath  he  beaten,  well  nigh  their  ribs  he  brake, 
Till  Piers  with  pease-loaf  prayed  him  pity  upon  them  take, 
And  with  a  cake  of  bean-flour  he  came  the  twain  between 
And  with  that  same  smote  Hunger  on  both  his  lips,  I  ween, 
As  much  as  should  a  bowl  fill  I  trow,  he  inwards  bled  — 
And  save  that  a  physician  water  forbade  that  stead 
The  barley  bread  to  moisten  and  ground  beans,  well  I  wis 
They  all  were  dead,  the  wasters,  and  buried  warm  by  this. 
With  that,  for  fear  the  feigners,  swift  to  the  barns  they  hied, 
And  with  their  flails  smote  soothly  from  morn  to  even-tide; 
Hunger  was  ne'er  so  hardy  to  lift  his  head  that  day 
E'en  for  a  pot  of  pease,  Piers  had  made  for  him  alway; 

[  302  ] 


Z^t  (Piston  of  ^im  t^t  (pfoiwrnan 

With  that,  a  heap  of  Hermits,  with  spade  in  hand  they  strive 
To  delve  the  dirt  and  dung  there,  Hunger  afar  to  drive; 
The  blind  and  the  bed-ridden,  a  thousand  holpen  were 
For  broken  legs  and  blindness  they  needs  must  lay  them 

there 
Basking  upon  the  high  road,  on  a  soft  sunny  day  — 
Their  hunger  hath  been  healed  with  an  hot  cake  alway  — 
Then  lame  men's  limbs  waxed  lissome,  and  unto  Piers  they  go. 
Ready  to  be  his  servants,  and  tend  his  beasts  also; 
For  charity  they  prayed  Piers  that  they  with  him    might 

dwell 
Since  they  his  corn  did  covet  to  keep  off  Famine  fell. 
Then  Piers  was  proud  to  help  them,  office  on  them  bestow, 
And  gave  them  meat  and  money  as  they  did  merit  show. 
And  then,  for  very  pity,  Piers,  he  did  Hunger  pray 
Home  to  his  hearth  to  get  him,  and  hold  him  there  for  aye: 
'And  yet,'  quoth  Piers, '  I  pray  thee  ere  yet  from  hence  thou  go 
Of  vagabonds  and  beggars  what  were  it  best  to  do? 
When  thou  art  gone,  I  wot  well,  their  work  shall  ill  be  done, 
Thy  going  shall  make  mischief,  they  be  so  meek,  each  one! 
Because  their  food  hath  failed  them  so  fast  to  work  they  fall, 
And  they  be  my  Blood-brethren,  since  God  hath  bought  us 

all! 
And  Truth,  sometime  He  taught  me  to  love  in  word  and  deed, 
And  in  all  ways  to  help  them  if  so  be  they  have  need. 
Yet  were  I  fain  to  ask  thee  if  thou  to  me  canst  tell 
How  these  men  I  may  master,  and  make  them  labour  well?* 

[  303  ] 


^$e  (pieton  of  {pkte  (U  (pfouoman 

'Hearken  to  me,'  quoth  Hunger,  'and  hold  the  rede  as  good, 
Bold  vagabonds,  and  beggars,  who  well  may  earn  their  food, 
With  food  for  hounds  and  horses  thou  shalt  sustain  them  still, 
With  bones  they  shall  be  nourished,  and  so  their  bellies  fill. 
And  if  the  sluggards  grumble,  then  bid  them  toil  alway, 
And  they  shall  sup  the  sweeter  when  they  have  earned  their 

pay. 
But  if  thou  findeth  any  whom  Fortune  treateth  ill 
With  fire,  or  with  false  friendship,  then  try  to  know  them 

still, 
Comfort  them  with  thy  chattels  —  for  love  of  Christ  on  high 
Love  them,  and  lend  unto  them,  for  law  of  charity. 
And  men  of  every  manner  where'er  thou  them  behold. 
Who  needy  be  and  naked,  whose  purse  shall  lack  for  gold, 
Then  make  them  fare  the  better,  whether  for  food  or  fee. 
With  work  or  word,  as  may  be,  while  that  thou  here  shalt  be 
And  win  friends,  as  Saint  Matthew  in  Gospel  teacheth  thee.' 
{Facite  vohis  amicos  de  mammona  iniquitatis  — ) 
Quoth  Piers:  'I  would  not  grieve  God  for  all  the  gold  on 

ground 
May  I  do  as  thou  sayest,  and  yet  be  sinless  found?' 
Quoth  Hunger,  'Yea,  I  swear  it,  or  else  the  Book  doth  He, 
In  Genesis  the  giant  we  were  engendered  by 
Was  told  "In  sweat  and  labour  shalt  earn  thy  meat  indeed, 
For  livelihood  shalt  toil  still  — "  so  hath  Our  Lord  decreed, 
And  even  so  saith  Wisdom,  as  in  the  Book  we  read  — 
{Piger  propter  frigus)  an  he  no  field  will  till, 

[  304  1 


Z^t  (Vision  of  {piite  (^  (pfoUDtnan 

Then  must  he  aye  go  begging,  and  none  his  hunger  still. 
And  Matthew  of  the  Man's  face,  these  words  he  doth  recite, 
The  servant  with  one  talent  who  used  it  not  aright 
Won  ill-will  from  his  Master  for  evermore,  I  wot, 
{Auferte  ah  illo  unam,  et  date  illi  l^c.  — ) 
He  took  from  him  his  talent  in  that  he  laboured  not, 
And  there  straightway  he  gave  it  to  him  who  erst  had  ten. 
And  spake  upon  this  manner,  his  servants  heard  it  then  — 
"To  him  who  hath  is  given,  and  so  their  need  is  stayed. 
He  who  hath  naught  shall  have  naught,  and  no  man  shall  him 

aid, 
He  who  for  gain  was  hoping  shall  be  of  hope  betrayed," 
For  every  man  shall  labour,  doth  Commonsense  command, 
By  teaching,  or  by  tilling,  or  toiling  with  his  hand, 
Action,  or  Contemplation,  for  Christ,  He  thus  decrees 
And  so  it  saith,  the  Psalter  in  ^' Beati  Omnes" 
{Labores  manuum  tuarum  quia  manducabis  l^c.) 
For  he  that  wins  his  food  here  by  labour,  verily, 
God  giveth  him  His  blessing,  and  happy  shall  he  be' 
Quoth  Piers,  'Now  would  I  pray  thee,  by  this  thy  charity, 
If  thou  hast  skill  in  leech-craft,  that  thou  would'st  teach  it  me, 
For  some  of  these,  my  servants,  of  sickness  aye  complain. 
And  all  the  week  they  work  not,  they  be  in  so  much  pain.' 
*Now  well  I  wot,'  quoth  Hunger,  'what  aileth  them  anon. 
They  over-much  have  eaten,  that  makes  them  oft  to  groan; 
I  counsel  thee,'  quoth  Hunger,  'an  thou  thy  health  would'st 

find, 

[  30s  ] 


Z^i  (Piston  of  ^kte  (^i  (pfoittwan 

That  never  day  thou  drinkest  till  thou  hast  somewhat  dined. 
And  eat  not,  so  I  bid  thee,  till  Hunger  doth  entreat, 
And  of  his  sauce  shall  send  thee  to  savour  well  thy  meat, 
And  keep  some  for  thy  supper,  nor  sit  long,  art  thou  wise, 
Ere  appetite  shall  bid  thee  do  thou  from  table  rise. 
And  bid  thou  not  Sir  Surfeit  at  this,  thy  board,  to  sit, 
Love  him  not,  't  is  a  Lecher,  and  lewd  of  tongue  to  wit, 
And  after-meats  full  many  his  maw  doth  crave  I  trow,  — 
And  if  thou  thus  shalt  diet,  mine  ears  I  wager  now. 
That  for  his  food.  Sir  Physic  his  hood  of  fur  shall  sell, 
His  cloak  with  golden  buttons  of  Calabar  as  well; 
I'  faith,  to  leave  his  physic,  I  trow,  he  will  be  fain 
And  learn  on  land  to  labour  his  livelihood  to  gain! 
For  by  Our  Lord  more  liars  than  leeches  here  shall  be 
Who  men  to  death  by  draughts  do,  ere  't  is  their  destiny.' 
'Saint  Paul,  thou  speak'st  to  profit!'  so  Piers,  he  quoth  alway, 
'This  is  a  lovely  lesson,  Our  Lord  thee  well  repay 
Nor  wend  thee  as  thy  will  is,  and  Fare-thee-well  for  aye.' 
'I  tell  thee  now,'  quoth  Hunger,  'I  go  not  of  good  will 
Till  I  to-day  have  dined,  and  drunk,  my  thirst  to  still.' 
Quoth  Piers,  *I  have  no  penny  that  pullets  I  might  buy, 
Nor  geese,  nor  swine,  but  only  two  cheeses  green  have  I; 
Of  curds  and  cream  a  little,  with  an  unleavened  cake, 
A  loaf  of  bran  and  bean-flour  that  for  my  bairns  I  bake. 
And,  on  my  soul  I  say  it,  no  bacon  salt  is  mine, 
Nor,  by  Christ,  have  I  scullions,  to  make  ye  collops  fine; 
But  leeks  have  I,  and  parsley,  and  cabbages  to  spare, 

[  306] 


€^c  f^mon  of  (piits  t^i  (pfouoman 

A  cow  and  calf  I  have  too,  and  for  my  cart  a  mare 

To  draw  the  dung  afield  now,  while  yet  the  drought  abide, 

And  this  as  food  shall  last  me,  I  trow,  till  Lammas-tide, 

By  then  I  hope  that  harvest  in  this  my  croft  shall  be 

Then  may  I  dight  thy  dinner  as  best  it  liketh  thee.' 

With  that,  all  the  poor  people  pease-cods  they  swiftly  sought. 

Bread,  that  with  beans  was  baken,  within  their  lap  they 

brought, 
With  onions  small,  and  chestnuts,  and  cherries  ripe  and  red. 
And  proffered  Piers  this  present  that  Hunger  might  be  sped, 
In  haste  he  ate  this.  Hunger,  and  straight  for  more  did  pray; 
The  folk,  for  fear  they  fetched  him  all  that  they  had,  straight- 
way, 
Full  many  leeks,  and  pease-cods,  to  please  him  were  they  fain. 
Hoping,  when  these  were  eaten  his  leave  he 'Id  take  again 
Until  the  time  of  harvest,  when  they  might  sell  new  grain. 
But  then,  that  folk  waxed  joyful.  Hunger  they  feasted  well 
With  good  ale,  and  with  gluttony,  until  asleep  he  fell. 
Tho'  he  worked  not,  the  Wastrel,  but  wandered  to  and  fro, 
No  bread  they  ate  the  beggars,  that  flour  of  beans  might  show 
But  manchet  rolls,  and  white  bread,  of  purest  wheat,  I  trow, 
Nor  longer  for  their  drinking  was  cheap  ale  good  enow. 
The  best  they  ask  and  brownest  that  brewsters  have  to  give  — 
And  labourers  who  be  landless,  and  by  their  hands  must  live 
Disdain  to-day  for  dinner  the  herbs  of  yesterday, 
Nor  penny-ale,  nor  bacon,  their  appetite  may  stay. 
Fresh  meat  they  aye  go  asking,  or  else  fish  freshly  fried, 

[  307  ] 


€U  (piston  of  (piersr  (^i  ^(oitttnan 

Hot,  hotter  still,  in  serving,  lest  chilled  they  be  inside! 
And  he  who  was  a  workman,  waxed  wary  at  that  tide. 
Unless  his  hire  were  heavy,  he  bitterly  would  chide. 
The  King,  and  all  his  council,  he  curses  in  this  wise 
That  laws  they  have  enacted  the  labourer  to  chastise, 
While  Hunger,  he  was  master,  to  chide  no  man  would  dare 
Nor  strive  against  the  statutes,  so  stern,  I  trow,  his  air. 
I  warn  ye  all,  ye  workmen,  to  win  while  yet  ye  may, 
For  hitherward  doth  Hunger  prepare  to  make  his  way, 
He  will  awake  thro'  water  the  wasters  one  and  all, 
Ere  five  years  be  fulfilled,  shall  famine  on  ye  fall, 
Thro'  floods,  and  thro'  foul  weather,  the  fruits  of  earth  shall 

fail, 
And  Saturn  sure  hath  said  it,  if  warning  may  avail! 

PASSUS    VHI 

Truth  heard  the  tale,  and  swiftly  to  Piers  declared  his  will 
His  team  he  bade  him  take  now,  set-to  the  earth  to  till, 
And  purchased  him  a  pardon,  from  pains  and  penalty 
He  and  his  heirs  for  ever  thereby  assured  should  be. 
At  home  he  bade  them  hold  them,  to  plough  the  fields  and 

sow. 
And  all  that  ever  helped  him  to  harrow  or  to  hoe. 
Or  who  in  any  manner  should  aid  Piers  in  his  toil 
That  pardon  the  Pope  granted,  it  should  them  all  assoil. 
The  Kings  and  Knights  who  guardians  of  Holy  Church  shall 

be, 

[  308  ] 


Z^i  (Pteiott  of  (pter0  (^i  ^(ouoman 

And  who  their  realm  and  people  shall  govern  righteously, 
Thro'  Purgatory's  passage  by  pardon  swift  shall  fare, 
In  Paradise  the  pleasure  of  patriarchs  to  share. 
Bishops,  who  bless  the  people,  and  both  laws  rightly  know. 
Observe  the  one,  the  other  forth  to  the  folk  shall  show. 
The  twain  on  their  back  bearing,  e'en  as  their  deeds  display, 
And  preach  unto  their  parsons  Sin's  punishment  alway 
And  how  their  sheep,  tho'  scabbed,  their  wool  may  save  at 

last. 
Have  pardon  with  Apostles   when   they  from  hence  have 

past,  — 
On  the  High  dai's,  at  Doomsday  their  lot  with  these  is  cast! 
Merchants  within  this  limit  had  many  years,  I  wot. 
But  no  plenary  pardon,  the  Pope  would  grant  it  not. 
For  Holy-days  they  hold  not,  as  Holy  Church  doth  tell. 
And  on  their  soul  they  swear  oft,  'as  God  shall  help  them 

well' 
Tho'  it  be  'gainst  their  conscience,  that  they  their  goods  may 

sell. 
But  'neath  his  seal,  in  secret.  Truth  sent  them  his  behest. 
And  bade  them  buy  in  boldness,  e'en  as  it  liked  them  best, 
Sithen  again  to  sell  it,  and  with  the  gain  thus  made 
An  Hospital  to  build  them,  that  they  the  sick  might  aid. 
Swiftly  to  mend  the  hovels  that  wretched  were  to  see 
And  build  again  the  bridges  that  broken  down  should  be. 
Find    marriage-dowers   for   maidens,    or   make   them    nuns 

instead, 

[  309  ] 


Z^i  (Piston  of  ^kte  t^t  (pfoitttnan 

Or  if  there  be  poor  widows,  who  have  no  will  to  wed, 

Find  such  their  food  henceforward,  for  so  shall  be  God's 

Will  — 
Scholars,  to  school  to  set  them  and  teach  them  craftsmen's 

skill, 
To  found,  perchance,  an  Order,  with  goodly  rents  for  share  — 
'And  I  myself.  Saint  Michael  will  send,  mine  Angel  fair, 
That  ne'er  a  devil  harm  ye  whenas  ye  come  to  die, 
But  your  souls,  I  shall  send  them  safe  into  Heaven  high. 
There  seats  for  ye  I  '11  furnish  before  My  Father's  Face  — 
But  Avarice  and  Usury  with  ye  shall  find  no  place, 
Nor  Guile  go  with  your  dealings,  or  aught  save  Truth's  own 

Grace.' 
Then  were  the  Merchants  merry,  for  joy  they  wept,  I  trow. 
And  William  for  his  writing  gat  woollen  cloth  enow. 
That  he  this  clause  had  copied,  great  thanks  they  gave  that 

day, 
The  Lawyers  had  least  pardon,  for  they  be  loath  alway 
To  plead  the  cause  of  poor  men,  save  that  they  have  good  pay. 
So  Wisdom  testifieth,  so  doth  the  Psalter  say: 
(Super  innocentes  munera  non  accipiunt,  a  regihus  et  principi- 

bus  erit  merces  eorum) 
From  princes  and  from  prelates  their  profit  should  they  make, 
And  ne'er  from  the  poor  people  a  penny-worth  should  take. 
But  he  who  his  speech  spendeth,  and  for  the  poor  doth  speak, 
Who  ne'er  hath  harmed  his  neighbour  who  needy  is,  and  weak, 
But  to  his  care  brings  comfort,  his  good  doth  covet  not, 

[  310  ] 


Z^t  (Pisiott  of  (pkvB  (^t  (pfouoman 

And  for  Our  Lord's  sake  only,  expounds  the  Law,  I  wot, 

No  Devil  at  his  death-day  may  damage  him  a  mite. 

He  surely  shall  be  saved,  the  Psalter  saith  with  right. 

{Qui  facit  haec,  non  movehitur  in  eternum)  — 

But  Wit,  and  Wind,  and  Water,  by  Holy  Writ,  these  three. 

This  is  the  truth,  God  knoweth,  nor  bought  nor  sold  shall  be. 

These  three  they  thrive  among  us,  as  thralls  they  serve  us  all, 

For  waxing,  and  for  waning,  as  God  shall  choose  withal, 

Pardon  in  Purgatory  He  giveth  scantily 

To  those  who  from  the  poor  man  for  pleading  took  a  fee. 

Ye  Advocates  and  lawyers,  ye  wot  well  if  I  lie. 

And  since  the  Truth,  ye  know  it,  then  serve  it,  verily! 

The  Labourers  who  their  living  by  toil  of  hand  did  gain, 

Who  took  their  wages  truly,  to  pay  their  tithes  were  fain, 

Lived  loving  lives  and  lawful,  since  lowly  hearts  they  bare 

Had  the  same  Absolution  as  fell  to  Piers'  share. 

But  Vagabonds,  and  Beggars,  of  them  the  Bull  said  naught. 

Save  it  be  sooth,  the  suffering,  for  which  they  alms  besought; 

Who  beggeth,  or  beseecheth,  save  he  be  forced  by  need. 

False  as  the  Fiend,  defraudeth  the  poor  by  this,  his  deed, 

And  eke  beguiles  the  giver,  and  that  against  his  will. 

Their  lives,  they  be  all  loveless,  nor  law  do  they  fulfil. 

The  women  that  they  deal  with,  they  ne'er  shall  marriage 

know. 
But,  as  wild  beasts  together,  they  work  for  mickle  woe 
And  bring  forth  bairns  who  branded  as  bastards  ever  go. 
One  in  his  youth  hath  broken  his  back,  or  bone,  of  yore 

[  311  1 


t^i  (Pision  of  ^im  i^t  (pfototnan 

And  for  this  with  his  children,  goes  begging  evermore, 
These  men  have  more  mischances,  should  one  take  heed 

thereto. 
Than  fall  unto  all  others  who  fare  the  wide  world  thro'. 
They  who  their  lives  shall  live  thus,  I  trow,  may  rue  the  day 
That  they  as  men  were  fashioned  when  hence  they  take  their 

way. 
But  the  old  men,  and  hoary,  whose  strength  shall  be  outworn. 
Women  who  may  not  labour  until  their  babe  be  born, 
The  blind,  and  the  bed-ridden,  whose  limbs  shall  broken  be. 
Who  take  their  mischance  meekly,  yea,  were  it  leprosy, 
Even  as  Piers  the  Ploughman,  have  pardon  plenary; 
Since  they  of  heart  be  lowly  Our  Lord  doth  grant  it  so 
That  Purgatory's  penance  they  here  on  earth  shall  know. 
'Piers,'  quoth  a  priest,  'thy  pardon  I  prithee  to  me  show 
Each  clause,  I  would  construe  it,  and  thus  the  English  know,* 
At  this,  his  prayer,  the  pardon  did  Piers  straightway  unfold, 
And,  I,  behind  them  standing,  I  did  the  Bull  behold, 
In  two  lines  was  it  written,  and  no  word  more,  to  wit, 
And  thus,  as  Truth  is  witness,  so  did  it  run,  the  Writ,  — 
^Et  qui  bona  egerunt  ibunt  in  vitam  eternam,  qui  vero  mala  in 

ignem  eternum.' 
'By  Peter,'  quoth  the  priest  then,  'no  Pardon's  in  this  roll, 
"  Do  good,  and  thou  shalt  have  good,  and  God  shall  save  thy 

soul. 
But  an  thou  shalt  do  evil,  evil  thou  shalt  receive. 
At  Death,  Hell  be  thy  portion"  —  nor  otherwise  believe!' 

[  312  ] 


t^c  (Pigion  of  ^kvs  (^  {pto^tmn 

Then  Piers,  for  pure  vexation  the  Bull  asunder  tare, 
And  to  the  men  he  speaketh  a  seemly  saw,  and  fair: 
'Si  amhulavero  in  medio  umbre  mortis,  non  timeho  mala,  quo- 

niam  tu  mecum  es^ 
'Now  shall  I  cease  my  sowing,'  quoth  Piers,  'my  labour  sore, 
And  about  this,  my  living,  will  busy  me  no  more, 
Penance  and  Prayer,  henceforward,  the  twain  my  plough  shall 

be, 
I  '11  frown  on  what  I  smiled  at,  while  life  is  left  to  me. 
With  tears  his  bread  the  prophet,  he  ate,  and  penance  sore, 
So  doth  the  Psalter  tell  us,  and  so  did  many  more, 
For  he  who  loves  God  truly  he  hath  the  greater  store. 
(^^Fuerunt  mihi  lacrime  meae  paries,  die  ac  node.''') 
And  Luke,  if  here  he  lie  not,  doth  other  lesson  show, 
We  should  not  be  o'er  busy  to  toil  on  earth  below 
The  while  we  dwell  in  this  world,  our  bellies  well  to  fill  — 
"Ne  soliciti  sihi  —  "  so  runs  the  reading  still. 
He  showeth,  by  ensample  that  well  our  souls  may  teach, 
The  small  birds,  thro'  the  winter,  who  feedeth  all  and  each? 
When,  thro'  the  frost  of  fresh  food  they  be  in  bitter  need 
Altho'  they  have  no  garner,  yet  God,  He  doth  them  feed.' 
'What?'  quoth  the  priest  to  Perkyn,  'it  seemeth  unto  me 
That  thou  art  somewhat  learned,  who  taught  the  Book  to 

thee?' 
"T  was  Abstinence,  the  Abbess,  who  ABC.  first  taught. 
And   afterward   came    Conscience,    who   better    knowledge 

brought.' 

[  313  ] 


€i^i  (Pision  of  (piers  ii^t  ^foittwan 

*Wert  priest,  now,'  quoth  the  other,  *thou  mightest  preach  at 

will.' 
*For  that  I  know  no  letters,  one  text  were  fitting  still.' 
Quoth  Piers,  'Thou  foolish  fellow,  thou  little  know'st  the 

Book, 
Seldom  upon  the  sayings  of  Solomon  dost  look, 
"  Now  cast  aside  these  scorners,"  he  quoth,  "of  bitter  tongue 
I  may  not  long  endure  them,  nor  rest  their  ranks  among  " '  — 
{Ejice  derisores,  et  iurgia  cum  eis  ne  crescant) 
Then  as  the  priest  and  Perkyn,  they  with  each  other  strove 
Their  words  from  slumber  woke  me,  —  then  was  I  fain  to  rove 
I  saw  the  sun  to  Southward  high  in  the  Heavens  sit. 
Sans  meat,  and  eke  sans  money,  on  Malvern  hills,  to  wit,    i 
Upon  my  dreams  still  musing  I  went  a  mile  and  more. 
For  many  times  this  vision,  I  trow,  I  've  pondered  o'er. 
For  love  of  Piers  the  Ploughman  pensive  in  heart  I  stray, 
Whom  I  had  seen  in  sleeping,  if  it  were  so  alway  — 
But  Cato  doth  deny  it,  and  Canonists,  me-seems. 
With  one  consent  they  say  it,  'take  no  account  of  dreams'  — 
But  yet,  I  trow,  the  Bible,  it  doth  true  witness  bring, 
How  Daniel,  he  divined  the  dreaming  of  a  King, 
And  thus  unto  Belshazzar,  (so  these  clerks  give  the  name) 
He  said:  'Sir  King,  thy  vision  and  dreaming,  they  proclaim 
That  strange  Knights  shall  come  hither,  thy  realm  from  thee 

to  tear 
And  lesser  lords  hereafter  thy  lands  shall  have  for  share.' 
Thereafter  deeds  declaerd  what  Daniel  had  foretold. 

[  314] 


ZU  (Pieion  of  ^kvs  (^t  (pfototnan 

The  King,  he  lost  his  lordship,  which  lesser  men  did  hold. 
And  marvellous,  I  trow  me,  were  Joseph's  dreams  withal 
How  Sun,  and  Moon,  and  with  them  eleven  stars,  did  fall 
Before  his  feet,  and  hailed  him  as  ruler  o'er  them  all. 
'Fair  Son,'  then  quoth  his  father,  'for  lack,  it  seemeth  me, 
Myself,  and  these  thy  brethren,  thro'  need  shall  seek  to  thee.' 
In  Pharaoh's  time  it  fell  out  e'en  as  the  father  said. 
When  Joseph,  he  was  Justice,  o'er  Egypt  ruler  made. 
And  all  this,  it  doth  make  me  dreams  in  my  mind  to  keep 
And  muse  on  them  at  midnight,  when  men  should  be  asleep. 
I  thought  on  Piers  the  Ploughman,  the  Pardon  that  was  his. 
And  how  the  priest  impugned  it,  by  reason  pure,  I  wis. 
And  I  divined  that  Do-Well  indulgences  surpassed 
Biennial,  and  Triennial,  by  Bishop's  seal  set  fast. 
That  Do-Well  upon  Doomsday  shall  worthy  praise  receive 
Surpassing  all  the  pardons  that  Peter's  Church  may  give. 
For  now  the  Pope  hath  power  pardon  to  grant  that  so 
The  People  without  penance  to  endless  joy  may  go, 
'T  is  part  of  our  belief  this,  the  clerks,  they  teach  us  so. 
{Quodcunque  ligaveris  super  terrain  erit  ligatum  et  in  cells) 
And  so.  Our  Lord  forbid  else,  I  loyally  believe 
Thro'  Pardon,  Prayer,  and  Penance,  Salvation  they  receive 
The  souls  that  for  Sins  deadly  and  sevenfold  do  grieve. 
But  trusting  in  Triennials,  so  do  I  truly  tell. 
Doth  help  the  soul  less  surely,  yea,  certes,  than  Dowell. 
Therefore  ye  men,  I  rede  ye,  if  rich  on  earth  ye  be, 
And  trust  in  this  your  treasure  to  buy  Triennials  free 

[31S  1 


Z^t  (Pmon  of  ipuxB  i^t  (|)fo)x)tnan 

That  ye  be  ne'er  the  bolder  the  Ten  Behests  to  break  — 
Ye  Mayors,  and  Master  Judges,  I  pray  ye  warning  take, 
Who  have  the  wealth  of  this  world,  for  wise  men  holden  be, 
In  that  Pope's  Bulls  ye  purchase,  and  Pardons  verily. 
When  at  the  dreadful  Doomsday  the  dead  again  shall  live, 
An  ye,  before  Christ  coming,  a  full  account  must  give. 
Of  how  your  life  ye  led  here,  and  kept  the  law  withal. 
What  were  your  daily  doings,  ye  must  rehearse  it  all  — 
Tho'  a  sack  full  of  pardons.  Provincial  letters  too, 
And  of  the  Friars  four  Orders  fraternity  ye  knew, 
Indulgences  have  doubled,  save  Dowell  shall  ye  aid, 
I  would  not  for  your  pardon  a  pie-crust  down  were  paid! 
Therefore  I  counsel  Christians  to  cry  on  Christ,  I  ween, 
And  unto  Mary  Mother  to  stand  His  Wrath  between, 
That  God,  His  Grace  shall  give  us,  ere  that  from  hence  we  go, 
To  work  such  works  as  please  Him  while  yet  we  live  below, 
That  when  we  pass  our  Death-day,  Dowell  declare  aright 
Upon  the  dreadful  Doomsday,  we  did  e'en  as  He  hight! 

Explicit  hie  Visio    Willelmi  de  Petro  de  Ploughman,  etiam 

incipit 
Vita  de  Dowel,  Dobet,  et  Dobesi,  secum  Wit,  et  Resoun. 


t^§e  (Vmon  of  (^m&  i^t  (pCoirman 


PROLOGUE 

All  in  the  summer  season,  when  warm  the  sun,  and  fair, 
I  clad  me  in  a  vestment,  as  I  a  shepherd  were, 
In  habit  of  a  Hermit,  of  works  unmeet,  withal. 
Wide  in  the  world  I  wandered,  to  hear  what  might  befall; 
And  on  a  May-tide  morning,  when  Malvern  hills  I  sought, 
A  marvel  strange  befell  me,  of  faerie,  so  I  thought. 
Weary  was  I  of  wandering,  and  laid  me  at  that  tide 
Beneath  a  broad  bank's  shelter,  hard  by  a  streamlet's  side. 
And  as  I  lay  and  leaned,  and  watched  the  waters  fleet 
I  fell  into  a  slumber,  the  sound  was  aye  so  sweet. 
There  came  to  me  a  vision,  a  dream  most  strange  and  fair, 
I  found  me  in  a  desert,  nor  wist  how  I  came  there. 
Mine  eyes  were  turned  Eastward,  and  lo!  toward  the  sky, 
I  saw  a  tower,  upon  a  hill,  builded  right  cunningly. 
A  deep  dale  lay  beneath  it,  therein  a  dungeon  drear. 
Deep  were  the  dykes,  and  darksome,  a  sight  of  dread  and  fear. 
A  fair  field  lay  betwixt  them,  't  was  full  of  folk,  I  ween, 
There  men  of  every  manner,  both  rich  and  poor,  were  seen. 
They  worked,  and  aye  they  wandered,  't  is  this  world's  wont 
alway, 

[  319  1 


Z^t  (Pteion  of  ^kxB  i^t  (pfo)joman 

Some  set  them  to  the  plough-share,  small  thought  had  they 

for  play; 
They  set,  and  sowed,  the  furrows,  and  toiled,  right  steadily 
And  earned  the  food  that  wastrels  destroy  with  gluttony. 
Some,  pride  were  fain  to  follow,  apparelled  in  such  wise 
In  fair  and  comely  clothing  they  clad  them  for  disguise. 
But  yet  to  prayer  and  penance  full  many  an  one  took  heed 
And,  in  Our  Dear  Lord's   Service  a  life  full  strict  would 

lead, 
In  hope  that  they,  hereafter,  in  Heavenly  bliss  might  dwell, 
As  Anchorite,  or  Hermit,  who  keeps  him  to  his  cell. 
And  covets  naught  outside  it,  nor  wanders  here  or  there 
To  seek  him  dainty  living,  his  flesh  to  nourish  fair. 
And  some  to  trade  betook  them,  as  seems  the  better  way, 
To  this,  our  sight,  for  such  men,  they  flourish  best  alway. 
And  some,  with  mirth  and  music,  and  skill  of  minstrelsy 
Won  gold  for  glee,  I  think  me,  they  do  it  sinlessly. 
But  jesters,  aye,  and  slanderers,  the  sons  of  Judas,  they,  \ 
By  fantasy  and  feigning,  lead  men  in  folly's  way. 
Yet  Wit,  It  doth  not  fail  them  if  they  would  work,  I  trow  < 
That  Paul  of  such  hath  spoken  I  need  not  prove  it  now. 
The  man  who  speaketh  evil  is  Satan's  slave,  ye  know  — 
The  cadgers,  and  the  beggars,  I  saw  them  come  and  go. 
Their  bags,  and  e'en  their  bellies,  with  bread  were  crammed, 

methought. 
They  begged  their  food  with  feigning,  and  at  their  ale  they 

fought. 

[  320  ] 


Z^i  (Piston  of  {pkve  (U  (pfoxotnan 

God  knoweth  that  as  gluttons  they  get  them  to  their  rest, 
And  rise  again  as  ribbalds,  and  robbers  with  the  best. 
For  sleep  and  sloth  so  sorry,  they  follow  on  them  still,  — 
The  pilgrims  and  the  palmers  plight  troth  with  right  goodwill 
To  seek  Saint  James  they  pledge  them,  nor  e'en  at  Rome  to 

fail  — 
So  on  their  way  they  get  them,  with  many  a  wondrous  tale, 
And  leave  to  lie  thereafter  a  lifetime  long,  methought  — 
Forsooth,  I  some  have  met  with  who  sware  they  Saints  had 

sought. 
Their  tongue,  methought,  was  tempered  a  lie  to  tell  of  each 
Rather  than  sooth,  so,  trust  me,  it  seemed  by  their  speech: 
Therewith,  a  horde  of  Hermits,  with  hooked  staff  each  man, 
To  Walsingham  betook  them  —  their  wenches  after  ran  — 
Great  lubbers  were  they  truly,  full  loath  to  work  to  go; 
And  so  in  capes  they  clad  them,  that  men  their  guise  might 

know, 
For  this  they  made  them  Hermits,  to  take  their  ease  the 

more,  — 
And  Friars  too,  I  found  there,  men  of  the  Orders  four, 
All  preaching  to  the  people  for  profit  and  for  pelf; 
Each  glossed  the  Gospel  Tidings,  as  seemed  good  to  himself, 
And,  covetous  of  capes,  there,  construed  it  at  his  will  — 
For  of  these  Friars  full  many  well  clad,  are  fed  their  fill, 
Here  merchandise  and  money  they  go  together  still, 
Since  Charity,  turned  Chapman,  doth  shrive  the  lords  for  fee 
Strange  happenings  have  befallen,  as  these  few  j^ears  may  see. 

[  3-1   ] 


Z^i  (Pmon  of  (piers  t^t  (pfoiwwan 

Save  Holy  Church  and  this  folk  together  better  hold 

Mighty  shall  wax  the  mischief  to  all  men  here  on  mould. 

I  heard  a  Pardoner  preaching,  e'en  as  a  priest  he  were, 

A  Bull  he  brought  forth,  sealed  with  Bishop's  seals  so  fair. 

And  sware  that  by  its  virtue  he  might  assoil  them  all 

Of  Falsity,  of  Fasting,  and  broken  vows  withal. 

Lewd  men  in  sooth  believed  him,  his  words  they  pleased  them 

well. 
To  kiss  the  Bull  they  drew  near,  upon  their  knees  they  fell, 
Gat  from  the  Bull  a  buffet  —  to  blind  their  eyes,  I  trow, 
Thus  by  the  Bull,  he  won  him  brooches  and  rings  enow. 
Thus  gold  is  freely  given  that  gluttony  be  spared, 
And  men  believe  these  rascals,  who  riotously  have  fared. 
But  were  the  Bishop  holy,  and  worth  his  ears,  I  wis. 
He  ne'er  had  sent  his  signet  to  trick  the  folk  like  this. 
Nor  is  it  by  the  Bishop  the  knave  doth  preach  alway, 
For    Parish    Priest,    and   Pardoner,   the    twain    divide    the 

pay  — 
Thereof  the  poor  had  profit  an  these  were  but  away. 
Now  parish  priest,  and  parson,  beseech  the  Bishop  here 
Their  parishes  be  poorer,  since  the  great  sickness  year. 
They  crave  for  leave  and  licence,  in  London  town  to  dwell 
For  Simony  to  sing  there,  since  silver  pleaseth  well. 
Now  Bachelor,  and  Bishop,  Doctor  and  Master  too, 
Who  cure  of  souls  have  gotten,  by  Tonsure's  token  due, 
A  sign  that  they  should   shrive  those  who  have  of  shriving 

need, 

[  322  ] 


^^t  (Pteton  of  (J)ut0  t^t  (pfoioman 

Pray  for  their  flock,  and  teach  them,  and  aye  the  poor  man 

feed. 
See  now,  they  He  in  London  in  Lent,  and  long  there  dwell, 
Some  serve  the  King,  as  likes  them  his  silver  forth  they  tell; 
In  Chancery,  and  in  Chequer,  his  debts  they  claim  alway 
From  guilds,  and  from  the  gate-wards,  from  waif,  I  ween,  and 

stray; 
Some  hire  them  out  as  servants,  in  Lords'  and  Ladies'  hall; 
And  in  the  stead  of  stewards  they  sit  and  judge  withal. 
Their  Masses  and  their  mattins,  their  Hours,  they  say  them 


o'er 


I  trow  with  small  devotion  —  when  Christ  shall  come  once  more 
I  fear  me  that  his  judgment  many  shall  rue  full  sore. 
The  power  I  well  perceived,  that  unto  Peter  fell 
Of  binding,  and  of  loosing,  e'en  as  the  Book  doth  tell. 
And  how  with  love  he  left  it,  e'en  at  Our  Lord's  behest, 
To  keeping  of  four  Virtues,  which  be  of  Virtues  best. 
And  Cardinal  are  called  —  and  how  the  gates  they  hold 
Where  Christ  be  in  His  Kingdom,  and  entry  may  withhold 
Or  e'en  again  may  open,  and  Heavenly  Bliss  unfold  — 
But  they  at  court,  the  Cardinals,  who  now  the  name  do  take. 
And,  by  that  same  presuming,  have  power  a  Pope  to  make, 
May  hold  the  power  of  Peter,  deny  it  I  will  not; 
By  favour  and  by  learning  is  cast  election's  lot, 
Of  that  I  know,  and  know  not  —  Of  court  will  I  speak  more; 
A  King  then  passed  before  me.  Knighthood  went  him  before, 
By  power  of  the  Commons  methinks,  that  King  did  reign, 

[  323  1 


^^e  (Pteton  of  {puts  (^t  (pfoioman 

And  Wit  and  Wisdom  followed,  and  clerks  to  make  were 

fain  — 
That  they  the  King  might  counsel  unto  the  common  gain. 
The  King  was,  with  his  knighthood,  and  clergy,  of  one  mind, 
They  deemed  the  common  people  their  food  for  them  should 

find; 
And  thus  content,  the  Commons,  they  wrought  with  craft  and 

skill. 
And  ploughmen  for  the  profit  of  all  the  land  must  till 
And  toil,  I  ween,  and  travail,  as  true  life  asketh  still. 
And  thus  the  King  and  Commons,  with  Wisdom  wrought,  the 

three, 
By  law  and  loyal  dealing  each  man  his  own  might  see. 
A  Lunatic  cried  loudly,  a  lean  thing  he,  withal, 
Before  the  King  low  kneeling,  upon  him  did  he  call: 
'  Christ  keep  thee,  and  thy  kingdom,  o'er  which  thou  rule  dost 

bear 
And  grant  thy  land  thou  leadest  in  love  and  loyalty  fair, 
That,  for  thy  rightful  ruling,  thou  Heavenly  Bliss  may'st 

share.' 
And  then  from  highest  Heaven  an  Angel  cried  again, 
He  deigned  to  speak  in  Latin  —  since  it  doth  not  pertain 
To  common  men  to  argue,  their  deeds  to  justify. 
They  should  but  serve  and  suffer  —  This  was  the  Angel's  cry: 
'  Sum  rex,  sum  Princeps,  neutrum  fortasse  deinceps^ 
O  !  Qui  jura  regis,  Christi  specialia  regis, 
Hoc  quod  agas  melius,  Justus  es,  esto  pius. 

[  324  ] 


€^t  (Pi0ton  of  ^kxB  (^t  (pfoloman 

Nudum  jus  a  te,  vestiri  vult  pietate, 

Qualia  vis  metere,  talia  grana  sere, 

Si  jus  nudator,  nudo  de  jure  metatur, 

Si  seritur  pietas,  de  pietate  metas.' 

Then  waxed  full  wroth  a  buffoon,  of  words  a  glutton  he, 

And  cried  upon  the  Angel,  in  answer,  speedily, 

^  Deum  Rex  a  regere  dicatur,  nomen  habere, 

Nomen  habet  sine  re,  nisi  studet  jura  tenere.^ 

Then,  with  one  voice,  the  Commons,  in  chorus  cry  alway 

Upon  the  Royal  Council,  construe  their  words  who  may! 

^  Precepta  Regis  nobis  sunt  legis  vincula! ' 

With  that  I  saw  a  rabble,  of  rats  and  mice,  I  ween, 

Who  ran  together  swiftly,  full  thousand  there  had  been; 

There  had  they  come  to  counsel,  for  common  weal  or  woe, 

For  that  a  cat  from  out  the  court  would  midst  them  come  and 

And  easily  o'ertook  them,  and  caught  them  at  his  will  — 
The  play  was  fraught  with  peril,  his  tossing  pleased  them  ill. 
'For  dread,  and  doubts  full  diverse,  ourselves  we   dare  not 

guard. 
To  grumble  at  his  gambols,  but  makes  our  lot  more  hard, 
For  he  will  scratch  and  claw  us,  his  grip  we  needs  must  know. 
Till  life  to  us  be  loathsome  ere  yet  he  let  us  go. 
If  we,  by  Wit  and  Wisdom,  could  make  this  torment  cease 
Then  we,  as  lordlings  lofty,  might  live  our  lives  in  peace.' 
With  that  a  rat  renowned,  and  reasonable  of  speech, 
A  sovereign  aid  disclosed,  right  good  for  all  and  each: 

[  32s  ] 


C^e  (Pi0iott  of  {pirn  t^i  (pfotoman 

*  In  London  town,'  so  spake  he, '  I  have  seen  folk  who  fare 
With  bands  of  shining  metal  which  round  their  necks  they 

wear, 
Collars  of  cunning  craftsmen,  to  come  and  go  they  're  free, 
On  warren  and  on  waste  land,  e'en  as  their  will  may  be, 
And  other-while  are  elsewhere,  for  so  I  heard  it  tell. 
By  Christ,  I  now  bethink  me,  did  such  band  bear  a  bell. 
Men  might  wit  of  their  coming,  and  so  might  run  away; 
And  right  so,'  quoth  that  ratten,  'it  seemeth  me  to-day; 
'T  were  good  a  bell  to  buy  us,  or  brass,  or  silver  sheen,  , 
And  fix  it  on  a  collar,  our  profit  then  were  seen. 
On  the  cat's  neck  we'll  hang  it,  methinks,  then  hear  we  may 
Where  he  doth  roam,  or  rest  him,  or  where  he  runs  to  play. 
And  if  his  will  be  sportive,  then  that  we  well  may  see, 
Appearing  in  his  presence  the  while  he  playful  be; 
But  if  his  mood  wax  wrathful  his  path  we  needs  must  shun  — ' 
To  that  this  rout  of  rattens  assented  every  one. 
But  tho'  the  bell  they  bought  them,  and  hung  it  on  a  band 
There  was  no  rat  among  them,  for  all  fair  France's  land, 
Who  bell  and  band  to  fasten  around  the  cat's  neck  dare,  - 
Or  hang  it  at  his  collar  —  tho'  England  were  his  share. 
So  cowardly  were  they  holden,  of  counsel  weak  withal, 
They  needs  must  lose  their  labour,  their  study  fruitless  fall. 
With  that  a  mouse  of  wisdom,  methought,  and  counsel  good, 
Strode  forth  amid  them  sternly,  and  thus  before  them  stood, 
And  to  that  rout  of  rattens  these  words  with  tongue  he  said: 
*Slay  we  the  cat,  another  will  come,  in  this,  his  stead, 

[326I 


tU  (Pifftott  of  (piers  (^  (pfoiowan 

To  scratch  us  and  our  kindred,  tho'  we  before  him  fled. 
I  counsel  this,  the  commune,  that  they  let  this  cat  go, 
Yea,  were  there  one  among  us  so  bold  the  bell  to  show! 
In  sooth,  I  heard  my  sire  say,  't  is  seven  years,  I  wot, 
Where  the  cat  be  a  kitten,  that  court  hath  evil  lot, 
As  Holy  Writ  doth  witness,  for  there  we  all  may  see, 
'  Woe  to  the  land  whose  ruler  naught  but  a  child  shall  be!" 
And  while  no  man  may  rest  here  for  rats  that  run  by  night 
The  while  he  chaseth  conies  our  flesh  he  holdeth  light. 
Feed  we  him  up  with  venison,  and  of  him  speak  no  wrong, 
A  little  loss  is  better  than  sorrow  lasting  long. 
Better  bear  this,  our  sorrow,  than  risk  a  worse  annoy. 
In  sooth,  the  malt  of  many  we  mice  do  now  destroy, 
And  ye,  ye  rout  of  rattens,  men's  clothes  would  rend  and 

gnaw. 
If,  from  the  court  no  cat  came,  who  might  ye  over-awe; 
Ye  might  not  rule  ye,  rattens,  an  ye  were  ne'er  so  free; 
And  for  my  part,'  the  mouse  quoth,  '  so  far  do  I  foresee, 
That  neither  cat  nor  kitten  be  grieved  thro'  me,  I  trow! 
The  cost  of  this,  his  collar,  I  pay  it  not,  I  vow, 
Tho'  it  had  cost  me  chattels,  consent  I  here  withhold. 
Let  him  do  as  he  willeth,  as  he  hath  done  of  old. 
And  singly,  or  in  couples,  to  chase  as  chase  they  may. 
Watch  ye  each  one  in  wisdom  his  own,  as  best  he  may.' 
Now  what  this  vision  meaneth,  ye  men  who  merry  be. 
Divine  yourselves,  by  Heaven,  ye  hear  it  not  from  me. 

[  327  1 


Then  came  of  men  an  hundred,  in  silken  hood  and  weed, 
Serjeants  they  were,  by  seeming,  who  at  the  bar  would  plead, 
For  pence  and  pounds,  I  think  me,  the  law  they  do  expound. 
Else,  e'en  for  Our  Lord's  Honour,  their  lips  fast  locked  were 

found. 
Better  to  meet  the  mist  cloud,  on  Malvern  lying  low. 
Than  win  from  them  a  murmur,  save  money  ye  can  show! 
Barons,  I  ween,  and  Burghers,  and  Bondsmen,  too,  as  well, 
I  saw  in  this  assembly,  as  ye  shall  hear  me  tell. 
And  Bakers  all,  and  Brewers,  and  Butchers,  too,  were  there. 
Of  woollen  web  the  Weavers,  and  eke  of  linen  fair. 
Tailors  were  there  and  Tinkers,  and  those  who  toll  would 

claim, 
Masons,  I  ween,  and  Miners,  and  crafts  of  many  a  name, 
All  labourers  that  be  living,  I  saw  them  come  and  go. 
Ditchers  there  were  and  delvers,  right  ill  the  works  they 

show. 
The  live-long  day  they  idle  with  ' Dieu  vous  save  Good  Dame!* 
Cooks  and  their  knaves  cried  loudly, '  "Hot  Pies!  Hot  Pies!  " 

proclaim, 
Good  pigs  and  geese  be  ready,  come  eat  ye  of  that  same!"* 
The  Taverners  right  gaily  they  in  the  cry  would  join: 
*See  here  white  wine  of  Osey,  and  red  wine  of  Gascoyne, 
Wine  from  the  Rhine,  and  Rochel ;  new  wine  have  we,  and  old.* 
All  this  I  saw  while  sleeping,  yea,  more,  by  sevenfold. 


(nok0 


iBtotes 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 

Of  this  fine  poem  only  one  manuscript  is  known,  the  Cotton  MS. 
Nero,  A.  x.,  now  in  the  British  Museum.  This  manuscript  has  been 
fully  described  by  Sir  Frederick  Madden  in  his  Syr  Gawayne,  a  col- 
lection of  poems  relating  to  that  hero,  printed  for  the  Bannatyne 
Club,  in  1839. 

The  poem,  composed  in  the  West  Midland  dialect  in  the  latter 
half  of  the  fourteenth  century  (ca.  1370),  is  generally  considered  to 
have  been  based  upon  a  French,  possibly  Anglo-Norman  poem,  now 
lost.  The  author  refers  to  the  adventure  as  having  been  written  in  a 
book,  and  the  French  form  of  names  and  appellatives,  Sir  Bernlak  de 
Hautdesert;  Sir  Agravain  ' as  dure s  mains'';  Morgain  'lafaye,'  point 
to  a  French  source.  At  the  same  time  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose 
that  such  a  source  provided  more  than  the  incidents;  the  form  given 
to  the  tale  is  plainly  due  to  the  genius  of  the  English  poet. 

The  adventure  contained  in  the  first  Book,  the  head-cutting  chal- 
lenge, is  of  extreme  antiquity;  the  oldest  extant  form  is  found  in  the 
Irish  text,  the  Fled  Bricrend  {Bricriu's  Feast),  the  manuscript  versions 
of  which  go  back  to  the  end  of  the  eleventh  century,  while  the  story 
itself  is  considerably  earlier.  The  adventure  is  also  found  in  other 
Arthurian  romances :  La  Mule  sans  Frein  ;  Gauvain  et  Humbert ;  and 
Diu  Crone;  in  each  case  Gawain  is'the  hero,  as  also  in  two  later  Eng- 
lish poems,  preserved  in  the  Percy  Folio  MS.,  The  Turk  and  Gawain 
and  The  Carl  of  Carlisle.  The  adventure  is  also  attributed  to  Carados 
in  the  first  continuation  of  Chretien's  Perceval,  and  to  Lancelot  in  the 
Perlesvaus;  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that,  in  its  Arthurian  connec- 
tion, Gawain  is  the  protagonist  of  the  drama. 

The  second  section  of  the  poem,  the  chastity-test,  is  not  found  in 
other  versions,  and  may  be  the  addition  of  our  author,  but  this  is  a 

[  331  1 


Qtofeff 


point  on  which  we  cannot  speak  with  certainty,  the  facts  that  the 
Green  Knight  is  named  only  in  the  concluding  stanzas,  and  bears  a 
French  name  there,  and  that  the  enmity  between  Morgain  la  faye 
and  Guenevere,  which  is  given  as  the  inspiring  motif  ior  the  adventure, 
is  a  French  tradition,  drawn  from  the  prose  Lancelot,  and  based  upon 
the  rivalry  of  the  two  for  the  affections  of  that  hero  —  also  that  the 
presentation  of  Morgain  as  a  hideous  old  woman  is  only  found  in 
the  comparatively  late  Propheties  de  Merlin  —  seem  to  indicate  the 
possibility  that  the  source  of  this  section  also  may  have  been  in  the 
French  original.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  poem  as  it  now  stands  may  be 
held  to  be  a  characteristically  English  composition,  and  one  of  which 
English  literature  may  well  be  proud. 

The  text  has  been  twice  edited,  in  1839,  by  Sir  Frederick  Madden, 
in  the  edition  referred  to  above,  and  in  1864,  by  Dr.  R.  Morris,  in  the 
publications  of  The  Early  English  Text  Society,  E.  S.,  Vol.  4  (revised 
1897).    The  translation  here  printed  is  from  this  latter  edition. 

A  somewhat  condensed  prose  translation  was  made  by  the  pre- 
sent translator  from  the  Madden  edition,  in  1898,  and  published  as 
Volume  I  of  Arthurian  Romances  unrepresented  in  Malory.  Gaston 
Paris  gave  a  detailed  abstract  of  the  romance  in  Volume  xxx  of 
Histoire  Litter  aire  de  la  France  and  a  comparative  study  of  the  differ- 
ent versions  of  the  head-cutting  challenge  will  be  found  in  Chapter 
IX  of  The  Legend  of  Sir  Gazvain  (Grimm  Library,  Vol.  vii).  See  also 
Professor  Schofield's  English  Literature  from  the  Norman  Conquest  to 
Chaucer,  p.  215. 

THE  ADVENTURES   OF  ARTHUR 

This  poem  has  been  preserved  to  us  in  three  manuscripts:  the 
Thornton  MS.,  in  the  library  of  Lincoln  Cathedral  (1430-1440); 
the  Douce  MS.  at  Oxford,  held  to  be  somewhat  later;  and  the  Irland 
MS.  at  Hale,  possibly  the  oldest  of  the  three.  The  poem  has  been 
several  times  printed,  first  from  the  Douce  MS.,  in  1792,  by  Pinker- 
ton,  'surreptitiously'  as  Ritson  says;  and  from  the  Thornton  MS.  by 
Laing,  in  1822,  neither  being  a  reliable  version.  An  edition  based 
on  a  collation  of  the  two  manuscripts  was  printed  by  Sir  Frederick 

[  332  ] 


Qioke 


Madden,  in  his  Syr  Gawayne.  The  Irland  text  was  edited  by  Rob- 
son,  for  the  Camden  Society,  in  1842.  The  Thornton  and  Douce 
texts  were  re-edited  by  F.  J.  Amours  for  the  Scottish  Text  Society, 
in  1897. 

The  dialect  in  which  the  poem  was  composed  appears  to  be  that 
of  the  North  of  England.  The  scene  is  laid  in  Cumberland,  and 
the  author  may  have  been  Scotch,  or  an  inhabitant  of  that  border- 
land which  modern  scholars  are  coming  more  and  more  to  regard  as 
the  home  of  much  of  our  Arthurian  tradition;  Amours  inclines  to 
the  opinion  that  it  is  the  work  of  the  same  author  as  the  Thornton, 
Morte  Arthure,  and  thinks  that  both  are  to  be  ascribed  to  the  Scotch 
poet  Huchown.  The  date  of  composition  is  uncertain;  Professor 
Schofield  considers  the  poem  to  be  of  the  same  period  as  Sir  Gawain 
and  the  Green  Knight. 

In  the  case  of  this  work,  there  seems  no  reason  to  postulate  de- 
pendence on  a  previous  source;  we  have  nothing  analogous  in  French 
literature.  The  first  part,  the  warning  apparition  of  Guenevere's 
mother,  is  a  version  of  an  incident  found  in  an  English  poem.  The 
Trentals  of  Saint  Gregory,  preserved  in  several  versions,  in  which  the 
mother  of  that  famous  Pope  appears  to  him,  and  prays  for  a  trental 
of  masses,  to  free  her  soul  from  purgatory.  The  second  part,  the 
combat  between  Gawain  and  Galeroun,  is  especially  interesting  in 
view  of  the  early  tradition  connecting  Gawain  with  Galloway,  testi- 
fied to  by  the  well-known  passage  in  William  of  Malmesbury  (cf. 
Fletcher,  Arthurian  Material  in  the  Chronicles,  p.  104).  A  full  ab- 
stract of  the  poem  was  given  by  Gaston  Paris  in  his  discussion  of  the 
episodic  poems  relative  to  Gawain  {Hist.  Litt.,  xxx),  and  it  has  been 
discussed  by  Professor  Schofield  on  pp.  218-20  of  his  History. 

MORTE  ARTHURE 

This  romance  is  frequently  alluded  to  as  the  Thornton  Morte 
Arthure  from  the  fact  that  the  only  copy  known  to  exist  is  found  in 
the  Thornton  MS.  of  Lincoln  Cathedral,  mentioned  above,  where  it 
occupies  ff.  53a-93b.  It  was  edited  by  Halliwell  in  1847,  in  an  edi- 
tion de  luxe,  limited  to  seventy-five  copies,  and  in  1865,  by  G.  Perry 

[  333  ] 


Qtofesr 


(re-edited  by  E.  Brock)  as  Volume   8  of    The  Early  English  Text 
Society,  more  recently  by  M.  Banks,  London,  1900. 

Sir  Frederick  Madden  thought  that  the  poem  was  identical  with 
the  Gret  Geste  of  Arthure,  composed  by  the  Scotch  poet  Huchown. 
This  opinion  was  combated  by  Dr.  Morris,  in  the  preface  to  his  edi- 
tion of  Pearl,  and  has  been  much  argued  since,  to  no  definite  end.  The 
poem  was  probably  composed  in  the  North,  or  Northwest  of  England, 
not  far  from  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century.  It  is  a  remark- 
ably fine  piece  of  work,  rich  in  descriptive  passages,  and  inspired 
by  a  genuine  enthusiasm  for  the  subject-matter.  We  know  no  French 
equivalent  to  the  work,  and  it  is,  in  all  probability,  an  original  ren- 
dering of  the  Arthurian  tradition,  as  presented  by  Geoffrey  of  Mon- 
mouth, modified  by  the  influence  of  the  chansons  de  geste,  as  shown 
in  the  introduction  of  the  Saracen  element.  The  passages  selected  for 
translation  are  of  special  interest  to  the  student  of  English  literature. 
The  tradition  of  Arthur's  warning  dream,  on  the  eve  of  his  conflict  with 
Mordred,  must  have  been  of  very  early  origin;  it  has  been  adopted 
by  Layamon  in  his  translation  of  Wace,  who  has  nothing  correspond- 
ing to  the  incident.  Layamon's  version  is  far  more  dramatic  and 
original  than  that  of  the  Thornton  Morte  Arthure,  and  he  also  repre- 
sents Gawain  as  sharing  his  uncle's  fall.  The  version  of  the  'Wheel 
of  Fortune'  has  been  adopted  by  the  compiler  of  the  prose  Mort 
Artu,  where  it  is  given  in  a  much  simpler,  and  less  picturesque,  form 
(Mort  Artu,  ed.  Bruce,  p.  220).  The 'Death  of  Gawain'  I  have  given 
as  being  not  only  charming  in  itself,  but  a  fitting  conclusion  to 
the  character  of  that  hero  as  depicted  in  the  two  preceding  poems. 
No  hero  of  romance  has  ever  been  more  basely,  or  more  unjustly, 
maligned,  and  it  is  well  that  modern  English  readers,  familiar  with 
Tennyson's  calumnious  lines,  should  have  this,  the  genuine  Eng- 
lish tradition,  to  compare  with  them. 

Malory  probably  drew  upon  this  poem  for  Book  V.  of  his  compila- 
tion; in  Dr.  Sommer's  study  on  'The  Sources  of  Malory,'  pp.  148-75, 
will  be  found  a  detailed  comparison  of  the  prose  version  with  its 
poetic  source.    Cf.  also  Professor  Schofield's  History,  p.  252. 

[  334  1  .^ 


Qto^e^ 


CLEANNESS  AND  PATIENCE 

These  poems  are  found  in  the  Cotton  MS.  described  above  (p.  331). 
They  are  by  the  same  hand  as  Pearl,  but  while  they  display  the  same 
descriptive  power  (cf.  the  account  of  Belshazzar's  feast  in  Cleanness) 
and  feeling  for  nature  (cf.  the  description  of  the  storm  and  shipwreck 
in  Patience),  the  object  of  the  writer  being  here  purely  that  of  edi- 
fication by  means  of  Biblical  illustration,  they  are  less  interesting 
from  the  literary  point  of  view.  The  form  is  simpler;  there  is  none  of 
the  conscious  artistry  of  the  other  poems;  and  there  is  less  scope  for 
originality. 

The  two  were  edited  by  Dr.  Morris  in  Volume  i  of  The  Early  Eng- 
lish Text  Society.  Cf.  the  Introduction  to  Professor  Gollancz's  edition 
of  Pearl  for  earlier  renderings  of  a  few  passages. 

PEARL 

This  extremely  beautiful  poem  forms  a  part  of  the  same  unique 
MS.  as  Cleanness  and  Patience.  It  was  first  edited,  with  its  compan- 
ion poems,  by  D.  R.  Morris,  in  1864.  In  1891,  Professor  Gollancz 
published  an  elaborate  edition,  with  translation  into  modern  English, 
and  a  preface  dealing  with  the  questions  of  date,  authorship,  and  lan- 
guage. Professor  Gollancz's  enthusiastic  praise  of  the  poem  attracted 
considerable  attention,  and  of  late  years  numerous  translations  in 
prose  and  verse  have  appeared,  none  of  which,  however,  can  be  held 
to  do  justice  to  the  peculiar,  ecstatic  charm  of  the  original. 

The  most  scholarly  edition  of  the  text  is  that  by  Professor  Charles 
G.  Osgood,  Belles-Lettres  Series,  Boston  and  London,  1906.  In  it 
will  be  found  a  full  bibliography  of  the  subject  up  to  that  date. 
Since  then.  Professor  Schofield  has  written  his  Symbolism,  Allegory, 
and  Autobiography  in  ^  The  Pearl'  {Publications  of  the  Mod.  Lang. 
Ass.  of  America,  1909),  treating  the  poem  from  a  less  limited  point 
of  view.  The  earlier  opinion  that  Pearl  was  the  record  of  an  exclu- 
sively personal  experience  —  the  poet's  lament  on  the  death  of  his 
own  child  —  had  unfortunately  led  to  the  elaboration  of  speculative 

[  335  ] 


(ttode 


autobiographical  details  unacceptable  to  modern  criticism.  All  will, 
however,  agree  that  the  poem  is  the  work  of  a  man  of  singularly 
noble  character  and  tender  sympathies. 

PIERS  THE  PLOWMAN 

The  Vision  of  Piers  the  Plowman  is  one  of  the  most  famous  produc- 
tions of  Middle-English  literature.  It  is  preserved  in  no  fewer  than 
forty-five  manuscripts.  According  to  the  orthodox  view,  proposed 
by  Professor  Skeat,  the  editor  of  the  best  edition  of  the  poem  (Early 
English  Text  Society,  Vols.  28,  38,  and  54),  it  was  the  life-work  of 
one  William  Langland,  a  native  of  Clerbury  Mortimer  in  Shropshire, 
who  wrote  the  first  draft  (Text  A)  about  1363,  revised  it  (Text  B) 
about  1377,  and  revised  it  again  (Text  C)  about  1399.  This  view, 
however,  has  of  late  been  vigorously  assailed  by  Professor  J.  M. 
Manly  (see  Volume  11  of  the  Cambridge  History  of  English  Literature)^ 
who  maintains  that  the  difi'erent  versions  are  due  to  different  au- 
thors, and  that  the  poem  as  a  whole  is  the  product  of  at  least  five 
writers.  Professor  Manly's  opinions,  though  they  have  gained  many 
adherents,  have  failed  to  convince  so  competent  a  critic  as  Jusserand, 
and  he  has  combated  them  strongly  in  Modern  Philology,  Volumes 
VI.  ff.  Various  other  scholars  have  sided  with  him,  and  the  contro- 
versy is  by  no  means  at  an  end. 

Inasmuch  as  new  attention  has  been  directed  by  Professor  Manly's 
articles  to  the  literary  merit  of  Text  A  of  the  poem,  which  he  believes 
to  be  all  that  is  due  to  Langland,  and  since  that  Text  is  at  present 
inaccessible  in  modern  English,  while  there  are  several  versions  of 
Text  B,  it  has  been  thought  well  to  reproduce  it  complete  in  this 
volume.  But  part  of  Text  B,  containing  the  picturesque  addition  of 
the  fable  of  belling-the-cat  applied  to  historical  conditions  of  the 
day,  has  been  modernized  also,  for  its  own  sake  and  for  purposes  of 
comparison. 

While  in  the  other  poems  printed  in  this  volume  the  sympathy 
and  interest  of  the  respective  authors  are  practically  confined  to 
courtly  and  knightly  circles,  Langland  is  in  close  touch  with  the  folk, 
and  his  work  is  correspondingly  less  florid,  more  simple  and  direct. 

[  336  ] 


Qto^ee 


There  are  from  time  to  time  passages  marked  by  true  poetic  insight 
and  diction,  but  on  the  whole  the  interest  of  the  work  is  human 
rather  than  literary.  As  a  'human  document,'  a  page  from  the 
strenuous  life  of  the  mediaeval  toiler,  it  is  probably  unsurpassed,  and 
of  enduring  value. 

In  the  original  scheme  of  selections  drawn  up  by  Professor  Scho- 
field  Piers  the  Plowman  was  represented  by  the  Prologue  to  Text  B. 
When  it  was  decided  to  publish  the  alliterative  poems  separately, 
having  more  space  at  disposal  and  for  reasons  above  stated,  it  was 
thought  well  to  supplement  the  selection  by  the  addition  of  Text 
A.  The  translator  preferred  to  treat  the  two  texts  quite  independ- 
ently, and  the  B.  translation,  completed  some  two  or  three  years 
previously,  was  never  referred  to  in  any  way  while  working  on  A. 
Hence  the  variations  in  the  rendering  of  practically  identical  pass- 
ages. 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U   .   S   .   A 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  EACILITY 


A  A      000  273  "354" 


UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

University  of  California,  San  Diego 

DATE  DUE 

NOV  9    1965 

- 

Series  0380 

